When Destiny burns
by Masterdude21
Summary: After an UNSC fleet fell prey to an ancient Forerunner scheme, a lone Spartan is left stranded in a world that he doesn't understand. He gets himself inadvertently bonded to a dragon, marking him as a pawn in a new conflict. He must fight for his life and overcome his own nature to gain allies in a world where nothing makes sense. But war always catches on, burning all it touches.
1. A dance of faith

**Chapter One: a dance of faith**

Madness has many names. Some call it dementia, others call it insanity. There are some out there that tell tales of a woman possessed by evil spirits, turning her into a maleficent creature. There are stories of such possessed beings, called "mad" or "insane". People who are mad tend to be unpredictable, chaotic and sometimes violent. Their emotions are out of control and their grip of reality spirals uncontrollably into a deep, dark pit that can be called "madness".

King Galbatorix has been the source of a great many rumors. Some call him "mad", others call him "insane". There are people out there that tell tales of the reigning king of Alegesea being a mad man. These people are wrong, as they forget a fundamental part of reality itself. A mad man is unpredictable in thoughts and emotions; as prone to change as nature itself is. The mantra of madness might refer to his reasoning itself, but not to his ability to reason as that remains as sharp as it was at his prime. When a man of unlimited power has to deal with spies and infiltrators on a daily basis, they cannot be mad as that madness would be the end of the man suffering from it.

As such, the King cannot afford to be mad. He is not suffering from dementia neither is he insane, for he is as cunning as he is powerful. When he disposed of the Riders, keepers of peace and sanity, he knew that there would be repercussions. As the exterminator of dragons, murderer of elves, he was not safe from people wanting their retaliation. He had not survived so long into his life without planning in advance.

And Galbatorix had always been a planner. This "bane of his own kind" had always been a schemer, a thinker and a patient man. Nobody had been able to foresee the extent of his plans and that had cost them their continuing existence.

In continuing his reign of the lands, he needed to advance his planning to a point where no man or elf could depose him.

He had power, swords and Shades –men and women possessed by vengeful spirits- at his disposal, but his own mind served him better than a thousand warriors could. People knew of his secret; the rebellious group called the Varden knew of the existence of the three eggs and they had been able to steal one of them in a scheme of their own.

But he had foreseen that. Three eggs, one stole, two under his control…and one additional egg, of which only he and a very select group of creatures knew off. The egg had been created many decades ago, when the father of his own dragon had fallen in love with a Rider's dragon. The egg, as black as the night and as dark as the deepest scales of his dragon, had been taken by him.

A mad man could not plan so far ahead. The King did. Wanting to recruit new and young Riders using the two remaining eggs, he sought to extent his control. In case something went wrong…or his schemes would fail him…he had one more egg at his disposal. That egg was a secret that not many living beings knew off. None of the Forsworn, his initial allies, had known of it and not even the most capable spy could find out about it. Every day and every night, he had two of his most powerful Shades guard the precious artefact. Female, as no living being could hope to match the cunning and intelligence of female Shades.

Their cunning was equal only to his and he had to work hard to make them loyal to him, like he had made the male Shade called Durza loyal to him. It was only through severely deprived bargaining and odds that he was able to trust the two guardswomen…and he didn't trust their environment with enchantments or other forms of sophisticated magic. Their ability had to be enough, as any more magic might…omplicate things.

Nothing could hope to ever find that egg…that fourth egg, containing a dragon that would serve as the crucial part in many of his plans. For it wasn't hidden in his tower, but in an inconspicuous room next to it. With that creature under his control, he could survive the loss of his original dragon, the loss of the other eggs and even the destruction of his empire. An enchantment to change the perception of his soldiers was all that he needed to hide it from public view –and all who had the mental ability to see the building and attempted to enter it, would be executed.

He took no risks. As a Rider, he was invulnerable to the devastating effects of time. Only a blade could take his life…and that would never happen to him, for Galbatorix was not mad.

He was not insane. He was cunning, intelligent and dangerous. And he had plans…so many plans and schemes.

One rebellious group would not depose him. Only a god could hope to destroy the King's reign –and there were no gods.

He knew that. There were only demons –and they all served him.

_~0~_

_*ERROR, SYSTEMS FAILING. SHAW-FUJIKAWA DRIVE OFFLINE. HULL BREACH IN SECTORS 7, 3 AND 2. ERROR, SYSTEMS FAILING…*_

_On December 25, 2552, the war with the genocidal alien race known as the Covenant had effectively been declared 'over'. A series of severely needed and desperate actions had been taken by mankind to reach this so-called "victory", amongst which was the SPARTAN-II project, which turned the tide of the war. Less known to public was the SPARTAN-III project, which bought mankind several time. Even less known that these Projects was the Secret-SPARTAN-II project, started after 2535, using a combination of war-orphans and {DATA EXPUNGED}. These Secret-Spartans were to be used by Section Seven of ONI, for completing black and special operations, including but surely not limited to: wetwork, assassinations, sabotage and clearing ops. These 13 Spartan units were to be considered assets to ONI only, being trained and developed by Colonel Ackerson, Admiral Parangosky and a severely limited selection of other personnel._

_Sometime after the Fall of Reach, the UNSC Destroyer Platernus was ambushed by Covenant ships. In a desperate attempt to escape the Covenant and continue on their high-imperative mission, the Captain ordered an Underpowered Slipspace jump, accidentally sending the ship towards a new and random trajectory, but also killing every single living thing on board except for Secret-Spartan-011._

_All contact with 2-Sierra-011 was lost._

_On April 3th, 2553, mankind regained contact with 2-Sierra-011, who had been missing for months by that time. They encountered him on a Forerunner Testing world, ruled by two AI's in control of a last-effort project to prepare mankind for a possible return of the Flood. This 'Energy Conversion Project' spanned multiple, seemingly random planets across the galaxy. Thinking that mankind had come to reclaim what was supposed to be rightfully theirs, the AI designated as Laughing Under the Coexisting Years assumed control over several Slipspace-bomber fighters, opening new slipspace portals to scatter the assorted Battlegroup Lima across these worlds._

_This event was known was the Scattering. The battlegroup that had been sent to recover Secret-Spartan Math-011 carried several of these ONI section-seven class Spartan operatives with it. _

_All contact with Battlegroup Lima was lost as per April 3th, 2553._

~0~

"Murtagh?" Eragon asked, fumbling with a piece of meat. He felt really nervous, for a multitude of reasons. Not only was his relationship with Murtagh troubled by their recent conflicts, but it was also the day before they would attempt to rescue the woman from her prison in Gil'ead. Freeing her from the Shade would be near impossible to do…even with Saphira's help. They would have to somehow infiltrate the city, get to the prison, avoid the Shade on the entrance and then free the woman from her cell. And then they would still have to get out of there without running into the entire army stationed there. And if that all worked out somehow, they would still have to face the Shade on their way out.

"What?" Murtagh replied, sounding annoyed.

"Do you ever think…about what is out there?" He carefully asked, not feeling like he knew how to place his thoughts.

"Nay…" Murtagh answered with an annoyed tone, lazily throwing a bone into the bonfire they had made. "Why should I? We are going to raid it tomorrow morning, I would like to sleep well tonight."

"I don't mean that!" Eragon impatiently added, thinking about a new way to formulate his thoughts. "I meant outside of Alagaesia; outside this world. Do you think there is anything out there, amongst the stars?"

Murtagh frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"I…I have been thinking about it lately. I don't know how to put it…" He fell silent for a few minutes, chewing on the meat that had once belonged to an animal, before he had caught and killed it. "There is nobody I have met who can tell me what is up there, beyond the skies."

"Don't be silly little one," Saphira told him in his mind, "Focus on the trouble at hand, not on things that hold no importance for our future."

"But…" He replied, still unable to convey his feelings in a proper way. Ever since Brom had died, his mind had feel filling itself with doubts and questions. Brooding wasn't the best way to deal with sorrow, but at least it provided him with fresh insight on how to deal with new situations…or so he liked to think. "Nobody has ever gone beyond the skies. Nobody knows what is out there…don't you know? Have dragons not soared higher than the sky?"

Saphira snorted. "A dragon would be wiser than to fly higher than is possible. We would go too close to the sun and burn ourselves!"

Eragon nodded, understanding his friend's point. Things had just not been the same lately; with Murtagh accompanying him and his own strange visions he had periodically…he just wanted something solid to hold on to. Something that he could use to make things normal again. If it was a useless question about the world, then so be it.

"What would be beyond the stars?" Murtagh told him. "Nothing for us, that is what. Our problems lie just ahead. You shouldn't pay too much mind to the things you don't understand."

Eragon shook his head, not wanting to believe that there couldn't be something more than just their own world. "I think there is someone who knows it. Perhaps we will encounter that person on our travels?"

Murtagh grunted and wiped his hands off on his trousers. "Whatever. I am going to sleep now, you would be wise to do the same, you know? Thinking too hard is stressful before a fight."

"Murtagh is right," Saphira stated, "Go to sleep now little one."

"I was just asking," He muttered and began preparing the place where he was going to sleep. Of course Murtagh and Saphira were right; there couldn't possibly be anything out there…right?

~0~

"This is Captain Wren, all hands on deck and brace for impact!" The Captain in command of the UNSC Frigate When Duty Ends yelled in the intercom, hoping to brace his personnel for the coming Slipspace exit. Their ride had been everything but pleasant if it was a fair assumption that the end of said ride would be even less than pleasant.

From the moment they had previously arrived at a world with so many life-signs, he had known that something was wrong. In fact, the entire operation to recover a missing Two-Sierra was just wrong –and not in the usual ONI wrong. The Spartan had been missing for more than four months –the chances of him being still sane after that were less than slim. But they had exited Slipspace nonetheless, to safe him from his isolation and possibly investigate the source of the signal that had allowed the UNSC to find him

And the very second they had appeared in-atmosphere to orient themselves and get a bead on the signal, these…drones…had appeared alongside the dorsal side of the When Hope Ends, illuminated themselves with a bright blue light, consuming the front, aft and dorsal in an overwhelming glare and…the rest was a little bit fuzzy. Even the bridge had been lit too brightly for anyone to see what was going on.

And then his navigational officer had told him that the Frigate had entered Slipspace once again, even though their engines were still recharging…making that statement impossible. So he had ordered his crew to double-check their data, as he had been reluctant to believe it at first. But it hadn't taken him long to change his beliefs, when virtually his entire crew in the bridge had told him that they were in fact, in slipspace.

It had been curious…but believable.

The most recent fights in the Human-Covenant war, especially those at the climax of the conflict, had proven that there were was weird shit out there…and he had seen quite a lot of weird shit. The aliens that the Covenant worshipped, called Forerunners, had been capable of feats like astro-engineering and repopulating entire planets. They had built the Halos and the Ark and they had been capable of purging the entire galaxy of life –not that anyone outside of ONI would find out about that.

It would be easy for those aliens to force ships into the eleven non-visible space called Slipspace. But the question was: why? More so than 'how'.

"Sir, our radar disk has been destroyed! Our shielding was breached near the aft section by an unknown impact and we have multiple hull-breaches!"

"Seal those blast doors! Evacuate all personnel to the front of the ship and prepare for a possible combat-landing!"

Their destroyer was seriously understaffed. They had a crew of fifteen men and women in the bridge and about a hundred marines and ODST's standing at the ready and that was about it. A skeleton crew. Just before they had made the final jump to 011's coordinates, they had transferred some personnel to the Wayfarer. That maneuver had left the diplomatic Destroyer with plenty of hands aiding in a possible defense against boarding parties, but it had left _them_ with a severe lack of able-handed men and women.

Fifty people to maintain and pilot a Frigate weren't very much. He didn't want to lose a single person anymore, not since the billions of senseless casualties inflected at the hands of the Covenant. Their rescue mission had turned ugly alright, but that was no reason to simply give up and die. And neither was the fact that some Forerunner ships had decided to send them into a completely new directory.

Captain Wren still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that they had managed to perform such an accurate in-atmosphere jump, only to get ambushed by Forerunner ships a few seconds later. From all the Intel gathered on the Halos and the Ark, mankind had been able to make a few stunning conclusions. The tale of the Master Chief had concurred with their conclusions: A very long time ago, the parasitic race called the Flood had fought a great war with the alien race known as the Forerunners, which led to the inevitable fall of hundreds of worlds. Eventually, the once great civilization had been forced to employ seven weapons of mass destruction, called the Halo Array. Using the Halos, they had purged the galaxy of life to starve the Flood. After that catastrophic mass-extinction event, the Forerunners had repopulated the galaxy using individuals from each and every race, including humanity.

And according to the artificial constructions encountered on the Halos and the Ark, what was left of the Forerunners had made sure that mankind would inherit their technology, marking them as Reclaimers.

Of course, since such a large portion of the military had been involved in these battles marking the final days of the war, ONI couldn't cover up all the stories that circulated around the UNSC. Then again, there was no need for that.

Or so Wren thought at least. Morale was very high among the fleets since their alliance with the Sangheili –commonly known as the Elites and the idea that mankind had been part of a greater plot in the galaxy would only raise that morale.

And then the ship suddenly lurched backwards, sending some personnel tumbling into their consoles and screens. One unlucky individual was thrown halfway across the bridge when he couldn't grab something in time. Stars and the black vacuum of space exploded into view, together with a planet covered in green, brown and blue.

"Status report!" The captain cried out.

"Sir, the systems are dead. Whatever that Slipspace jump did to us, it fragged most if not all of our systems!"

"What do we still have?" He asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"We still got access to our thruster-system, manual opening of hangar bays and the Public Announcement systems, sir! If we want to, we can drift closer to the planet and enter in a synchronous orbit."

"And then we can deploy our ships and search the surface for human life?" He sarcastically stated, knowing that that was most likely what Two-Sierra zero-one-one had done.

"Sir, our communications are dead. Our radar disk was blown clean off during the transition –we won't be able to call for help until it's repaired sir!"

Wren cursed under his breath and quickly tried to think of something else to do. In times of emergency, the crew looked at their commanding officer for guidance and orders. And since he was in charge of the entire battlegroup Lima –or what was left of it- he couldn't just sit down and do nothing.

They could just sit tight until they had repaired the communication disk; it would only take a few days at the most and it wasn't as if there was anything interesting down on that planet-"

"Sir! Our short-range scanner came to life again and we are reading hundreds of thousands of life-signs down there!"

The Captain sighed again and crossed his arms. "What do you have for me?"

"Scanner says most of them are human sir. But this planet doesn't match with any of the known colonies."

"Perhaps it was declared destroyed by the Covenant?" He opted.

"Could be sir," One of his navigational officers replied.

If there were humans down there he could get some help. Perhaps he even find a way to contact the UNSC to give them a ride? He had no idea why those drones had sent them there, or if the rest of Battlegroup Lima was still intact. Perhaps they were here by accident as per safety measure to get them away from the first planet, or perhaps they were here for a reason. Whichever it was, it would probably be a good idea to send a scout party down there. The problem was that he didn't want to risk his crew on something as dangerous as exploring a planet that wasn't in the system.

Because the UNSC had a tight list of its colonies to effectively deal with threats and possible invasions. Lots of colonies were destroyed by the Covenant. If they had a planet down there that didn't match with any of the known colonized worlds…and said planet was habited by human life…they might possibly have a problem.

Because an entry could be wiped by Insurrectionists to hide the planets where they had major operations. The Secret-Spartans had been extremely effective in eradicating all rebel presence over the years and during the war, but there could still be a world out there that belonged to the Innies.

And they wouldn't like a UNSC ship flying down to meet them. On the other hand, Wren had no desire to spark another war. And on the contrary to a certain individual on board, he didn't want to waste one more human life for some senseless war. Enough had died at the hands of the Covenants…and enough had died at the hands of ONI.

No, he would not start a conflict with the rebel forces possibly down there. But neither would he risk valuable personnel.

"Alright people, I have decided," He told his crew and activated the PA system, broadcasting his voice throughout the ship. "This is your Captain speaking. Our systems are fried; communications are broken and we are effectively drifting in space. But there is a habitable planet down there, possibly inhabited by human life. It doesn't match any known colonies, but we don't know if that list is even accurate anymore. I will lead a recon operation on its surface."

He paused and quickly thought of a few people that he would want in the Pelican dropship with him. "If you hear your name, report to Hangar Bay One immediately."

And as he went through a list of seven marines, he decided that it would be better for everyone of he had Spartan with him.

"And Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven."

A few of his officers tried to hide their surprise at his decision, but he pretended to not see them. 007 had a…less than ideal combat record for this operation. But then again, there wasn't a single Secret-Spartan out there that was ideal for something as this. ONI's pets only served to kill and destroy –as Spartans should, really. But he agreed with Mental Health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield, who had spent years working with them. They were unstable, dangerous and untrustworthy.

It didn't help that they were still kids, really. The oldest one was currently twenty-one…and the youngest one was eighteen. The Spartan currently on board of the When Duty Ends was nineteen.

But as the commanding officer, the decision was up to Wren. And his word was final.

"Sir, is this a good idea?" His navigational officer asked.

"No, probably not. But I will be damned if I let any good UNSC personnel die for some needless conflict. If those people are our enemy and they insist in staying like that, I want to be the first to find out."

It was a sentimental decision really. He didn't feel like blindly putting his life on the table for people that could be considered expendable by ONI. But that was exactly the point. He had spent so many years working for that Office of Naval Intelligence that he was tired of sacrificing people for the so-called "greater good". It was time for him to put his ass on the line first.

"Sir?" One of the officers asked him.

"Yes?"

"Even if we can get communications to work again…the ship is still dead. Whatever that slipspace jump did to us, it completely annihilated our ability to travel. It might be weeks before the UNSC finds us."

"I know that," Wren replied with a grim expression on his face. "All the more reason to make nice with whatever is down there."

~0~

Captain Wren had called him to the Hangar Bay to prep for a recon operation, investigating a possible UNSC colony to see if they couldn't get help.

Secret-Spartan-007 didn't like that idea though. A UNSC Captain working for ONI, being the first one to possibly walk into a trap? With only seven marines supporting him? Unthinkable. They would only be wasting time down there.

He marched towards the Pelican that had been readied for the descent. With a total of eight humans and one Spartan sitting in the ship, it would be very cramped. As such, he wanted to enter last. That way he could exit the ship sooner than the other personnel and neutralize any and all hostiles that would target the Captain. Their mission to rescue Math-011 had been compromised, but that wasn't a reason for the Captain to die.

He ignored the nervous stares of the seven marines that were gathered in the Hangar Bay and started to inspect the armaments of the Pelican. They might run into aerial-hostiles; they needed enough munition to counter them. Aside from the usual supplies of MA5C Assault Rifle munition, there were also quite a few clips for the M6D Magnum series stored in the compartments.

Of course this dropship would be armed for war; it was his own transport. Usually when he was assigned to a ship, it was because he needed a ride to the next objective. A Pelican would be specially rigged for atmospheric insertions, withstanding the high temperatures and possible AA fire for long enough so that he might get to the ground and commence his operation.

But this wouldn't be a combat-drop, according to the Captain. This would be a recon mission. But when things went hot, he wanted to be prepared.

While he grabbed a few weapons to keep at his person, the surface elevator opened and a few men stepped out. One of them was Captain Wren, the man in command of the When Duty Ends. The other two marines weren't important; probably guards.

He snapped his feels together and saluted, straightening his back. "Officer on deck!" He called and the seven marines who were present all snapped to attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, at ease." The Captain spoke. He wore the standard black ONI officer outfit, with the four bars and single star that identified him as the senior officer in charge of the ship. "We have no idea what is down there. Could be a ruined civilization, could be a rebel base. What we do know is that they can provide us with the help we need. I have tasked several engineers and naval officers with repairing the communication array; they will stay aboard the ship. Even if one of the groups fail, we will still be able to repair our disk."

"Sir, permission to speak?" One of the marines, a Corporal, asked.

"Permission granted."

"Sir, what the hell happened back there? Did we get forced back into Slipspace without having to recharge our engines?"

"Keep sharp marine!" One of the larger marines –the current Staff Sergeant- barked at the unfortunate soldier. "And use your brain this time! Noticed the sudden de-acceleration of the ship? The smooth ride we are enjoying at the moment? This ship just jumped out of Slipspace! How did we get there in the first place?"

"But Sarge," The marine complained, "I don't know how we got to Slipspace, we just jumped!"

"Why you-" The Sergeant growled, but the Captain spoke up again and everyone simply shut up he did.

"You encountered those drones at the Ark before," Wren stated, "Those Forerunner robots are capable of doing lots of things. I think one of them turned itself into a portal, or a Slipspace drive. It pulled us in and sent us here. It is our job to find out why."

"Sergeant?" The Captain asked, mentioning to the prepared dropship.

"Aye sir! You heard the man, get to it! MOVE OUT MARINES! You got a purpose today so act like it!"

The Spartan subtly frowned, wishing that the pointless conversation would be over soon. He understood that a briefing was important, but he wanted to be on the move already. And the yelling that the Staff Sergeant did was just plain annoying. If a soldier needed such screaming to get motivated, he or she wasn't a good soldier.

While the rest of the group got on board the Pelican, the Captain took a moment and mentioned for him to follow him a few meters away from the dropship.

"We got no idea what we are dealing with here Spartan, but if it turns out we can operate on a diplomatic level, I need you to lay low for a while. If we face hostility of any kind, I need you to separate from us and do what you do best."

"Sir," He confirmed the request. Doing what he did best usually meant infiltrating, sabotaging and assassinating the enemy command structure. If Captain Wren and his men ran into trouble, he would have their backs by killing all essential personnel responsible for their trouble.

"Make no mistakes, I don't want you anywhere near civilian centers or diplomatic events. I know of your record son."

He nodded, understanding what the Captain meant. He didn't like hearing that –especially not in the condescending tone that the commissioned officer was currently using. But he agreed nonetheless. "Yes sir."

"Good," Wren said and marched towards the open hatch of the dropship.

The Spartan waited for a few seconds before following him. He already knew that he couldn't stick close to the group of marines and their CO, but that was not a problem. He disliked working in groups and he nearly always worked alone.

"Alright marines, listen up!" The Staff Sergeant bellowed. "We are going to descend down the planet, search for more intelligent life than you lot and employ them to help us. If any of you are scared of atmospheric descents, this is your lucky day to man up!"

"Ooh-rah!" Some of the marines yelled in return, but most of them kept silent. When he entered the dropship and allowed for the hatch to be closed behind them, the few conversations that were taking place died away rather quickly.

He understood perfectly what his appearance did to the soldiers in his vicinity, even though these soldiers were specifically chosen by ONI to work with classified projects and operations. They knew that he wasn't a true SPARTAN-II, but that didn't diminish their obvious awe of him. It was a reaction that came naturally with all soldiers, battle-hardened ODST's or simple rookies. He wore MJOLNIR MK VI armour, with a dark black-gray tint. He knew of several Secret-Spartans that had chosen for other permutations, but he preferred the default helmet. It served him the best.

"Captain?" The Staff Sergeant asked. "Permission to speak?"

"Granted," Wren told him.

"When are we going to get back to our missions?"

The Captain seemed thoughtful for a few seconds and he could understand why. Even though the war with the Covenant was over, the troubles of the UNSC had not ended. ONI had still been sending them from one location to another to partake in a series of crucial missions; ending rebel threats, destroying Covenant-Loyalist parties and rogue Elite fractions. This was just the latest mission in the series, even though it had ended in what was most likely a defeat. Their disappearance wasn't quite as crippling as Math-011's disappearance had been back in 2552, but it was a blow to humanity nonetheless.

The sooner they had fixed their problem the better.

The remaining guards moved back into the ship and activated the hangar bay once the pelican was ready for take-off, lowering the heavy bulkheads and allowing the ship to leave the When Duty Ends.

The Spartan remained near the sealed hatch of the ship, with his back turned to the other crew. Their descent down the atmosphere of the planet didn't go off without a hitch; pelicans never inserted without getting a bit uncomfortable for the people inside. He didn't notice any of the less-than-ideal circumstances, but the marines behind him had grown silent. That was a sign that they were uncomfortable.

Good. They wouldn't disturb him then. They descent didn't take very long, as the Pelican dropships had been upgraded a lot since the last few months. After a few minutes of silence, the vibrating of the internal structure ceased and was replaced by a heavier, more noticeable trembling.

They continued to descent towards the surface for another two minutes before the turbulence ceased.

"This is India three-sixteen," The pilot then told them, breaking the silence. "We are nearing the surface right now. I spotted something that might be interesting."

"Go ahead India, what do you got?" The Staff Sergeant said.

"We got a city down there. Like a big one. With stone walls and the like."

"Copy India, what else?"

"The city has a large slab of stone hanging over it, natural barrier I guess. Looks like a fancy city, but very…medieval."

Medieval age…the time of knights and dragons in the year 500 of Earth history. Of course dragons and witches didn't exist, but it was a very influencing cultural era for humanity.

"Come again, Three-sixteen, medieval?" The Sergeant asked, sounding surprised.

"Copy that Sarge. I can't spot it very well, want me to take the bird lower?"

"Copy that India Three-sixteen, take it closer. We'll see if we can't land there and communicate with these people," Captain Wren told them.

The Spartan frowned, taking notice of the strain in the Captain's voice. "Sir, permission to open the hatch?" He asked, already moving his hand to the lever.

"Denied! We can't risk scaring these people. Take us down India."

He removed his hand from the lever and prepared himself for potential AA fire. The pilot had said that the city looked medieval, including walls. But if this was an UNSC settlement, it would be visible from the sky. They would have been hailed by transmissions…or they would have picked up other radio traffic. There should be signs that this city was UNSC-controlled, even if it was just filled with civilians. And yet…medieval? That sounded strange. Perhaps these people had survived some disaster that had forced them to start all over?

But if that was the case, they should have been recognized by the population. Rebel or not; every single living human knew of the UNSC and their fight against the Covenant. What could have happened here? And why had those drones sent them here? Was it truly a random trajectory, or were they here with a purpose? Perhaps they Forerunner machines had wanted them to help this community?

No…there was more to it. He just couldn't place it.

"This is it people, prepare for a landing. We are going to initiate contact with these civilians," Captain Wren told his crew. Normally, Navy CO's let their Sergeants or other officers speak for them. But Wren was a different case; he was an experienced officer that had been seeing action for at least twenty years, having joined the navy at age twenty. He was forty-three now and had refused two promotions, stating that he wanted to stick to fighting the Covenant at the front lines while transporting the Secret-Spartans to their goals.

He wasn't a spook though; Wren had showed that he could be soft at several occasions.

Not that the Two-Sierra-007 cared for that. If the man got the job done, he would be good enough for him.

Suddenly, their ship lurched sharply to the right and the marines were shook heavily when it became subjected to heavy turbulence.

"We got hostile fire!" The pilot cried out and an alarm began to blare in the interior.

"What are they using?" The captain replied and gestured at him, telling him that he had to pop the hatch. Opening the heavily armoured door while in midair and under enemy fire wasn't the smartest thing to do, but he understood the Captain's reasons.

"No rockets, we don't have a lock or anything," India Three-Sixteen told them while the Spartan opened the door, allowing him to see what was going on.

He noticed that there were a dozen people wearing black cloaks spread out across the rooftops, approximately fifty meters below them. They appeared to be making gestures with their hands and everytime they made such a synchronized movement, a red spherical projectile appeared from thin air and surged towards the Pelican, slower than bullets or plasma but with enough velocity that the ship couldn't dodge them.

"Sir, unknown hostiles below!" He snapped and took aim with his assault rifle when there was enough space for him to fire.

"Spartan, remember our deal! Get out, engage and buy us time!" Wren ordered him.

"Sir?" The Staff Sergeant asked with a surprised tone.

"What?" Several marines muttered and one of them tried to ask the Captain what he was thinking. But another impact rocketed the dropship and the pilot cried something about being unable to target the hostiles.

"Sir!" He verified the order and took notice of a large tower underneath the slab of stone, guarded perfectly against attacks from above. They had flown the Pelican dropship to the edge of that platform, but the sustained enemy fire seemed to grow more intense with every meter they got closer to the tower. "Move us closer to the tower."

"You heard the Spartan, move it!" The Sergeant bellowed, but the pilot didn't even reply to then. Years of experience had taught these soldiers when to act immediately and when to act immediately without being ordered so.

Once he had been brought close enough and concluded that the ship couldn't safely approach the tower closer, the Spartan jumped.

On that moment, he didn't think about the possible armies stationed in the large city. He didn't think about the implications of cloaked men pulling fire out of thin air or possible consequences of those projectiles for the Pelican and Three-sixteen. The only thing that was on the super-soldier's mind was landing, breaching and killing. He felt a hot feeling spread throughout his abdomen as the adrenaline flowed freely through his blood and sped up his reactions. Time seemed to slow and speed up simultaneously and he focused on the small building next to the tower, where he was going to land.

He wasn't attempting to land, he wasn't trying to get anywhere. He was going to land at his target. It was a fact. A given. And while he aimed at the oddly built structure, he overpressured the hydraulic gel-layer in his MJOLNIR armour and forced his limbs closer to his body, increasing his speed and reducing drag. Twenty meters and closing. He took notice of several red-clad men and women moving around between the rapidly growing buildings, but by the time they would arrive at his target he would have already breached it and moved up to the tower. For that structure had to contain the leaders off this city –this outpost that had opened fire on the dropship.

He placed his chin against his chestplate and prepared himself for the impact. The adrenaline that was raging through his body had given him enough time to analyze the situation, take actions and think of a plan. He knew what he was going to do and what it would mean to the command structure of his enemy.

His body crashed into the stone structure, smashing through the walls before they could stop him. He felt a series of rapid impacts jar his bones and teeth and his shielding dropped to ten percent when his suit impacted on the series of stones and other items with considerable speed.

He had made those jumps before, but almost never with the intent of using his own body as a bunker-buster to breach a stone structure.

The Spartan ignored the white flash that had appeared in front of his vision and staved off the shock of the impact, exploding into movement the very second he could. It was comparable to the so-called "golden hour" of the ODST's , where the very first hour after landing behind enemy lines was the most important. And while he had been denied more than forty percent of his Augmentation-details, he had read the reports that weren't classified for him. His body was more than strong enough to survive such an impact without killing him and while wielding his MJOLNIR, he wouldn't even be incapacitated. Perhaps a few bruises and minor tissue-damage, but that would be it.

He had blown a Spartan-sized hole in the stone wall and crashed through the wooden floor, smashing the planks into a collection of splinters and nails. It had taken him only a few seconds to breach the bunker-like building and in the one second that he had to clear his mind and focus his thoughts, he had already jumped out of the hole and kicked down the heavy wooden door that blocked his way.

The entrance led to a dark tunnel, completely devoid of light and probably littered with traps. Even through the hormone-induced state of combat, the soldier realized that he needed to tread carefully. With his enhanced eyes, he was capable of seeing most if not all of the things that were scattered on the floor.

As such, he quickly determined that there wasn't anything there to impede his progress. Curious, why didn't the enemy use this long hallway to stop potential intruders? Where they stupid?

He sprinted across the hallway, crossing the twenty-meter long structure in only a few seconds. He used his impressive momentum and weight to smash right through the thick wooden door, smashing into it with his right shoulder so that he might roll through the opening and get to his feet in one smooth movement. Holding his gun.

He crashed through the door, fell to the floor and reached out and grabbed his assault rifle while rolling over the floor. After approximately half a second had passed since him touching the door, the Spartan got upright and analyzed the room he was finding himself in. His vision was almost devoid of colour, with things like red and yellow tints brighter and more prominent than normal. All details and objects were sharper and clearer than ever and as he aimed down his sights at the nearest humanoid being, he took notice of the bright red hair and cloak that his target was wearing. A long, red sword with unnaturally small barbs was being held on one hand, while an oddly shaped dagger was resting in the other.

The hostile was human, very tall, redheaded and obviously hostile. He pulled the trigger as soon as he had lined up with her head and placed one leg in front of him to brace himself against the wooden floor, having been carried a bit too far by his sprint.

While he pulled the trigger, something exploded into view and he spun around as fast as he could, repositioning his assault rifle while doing so. There was an additional hostile there, but his motion tracker didn't identify them as friendly or hostile.

The motion he had seen from the corner of his eye was a thrown dagger with an unusual long point, flying in a perfectly straight line towards his head.

Despite the fact that he could easily withstand that attack without as much as a scratch, it was his instinct as a Spartan to dodge it. Throwing knives were generally better to be avoided, as he had learned when he was younger. He side-stepped and sighted in on the head of the second hostile, also a redheaded woman but this time with hair that reached down lower than her waist.

He squeezed the trigger once, but didn't get time to pour down more fire as something moved near his right position again. He moved to his right and avoided a sword that cleaved through the air in a downward arc, neatly slicing through the air he had been occupying a split-second before.

He lashed out and punched the elbow as he passed the first woman, breaking it with ease and sending a jagged spike of bone out of her skin.

The woman screamed and he kicked her against her side, breaking all the ribs on her left flank and sending her tumbling through the room.

He moved backwards and attempted to shoot the second female –the one with her stupidly long hair- but she somehow managed to perform the same side-step as he had done and actually dodged the bullet. Then she closed in on him with more speed than a charging Elite could muster and slashed at him with another sword, which he barely managed to dodge. These humans were odd. Very odd. They gave off a very bad air…it was almost like he could feel that there was something wrong with them.

He ignored the rising sense of unease and throw a few quick punches to the first female, two of which she dodged with a sharp, jerking movement and last of which she simply deflected with two of her hands, pushing him to the side.

That took him aback. He had never ever encountered a being before that could actually dodge his attacks…even Elites weren't fast enough to dodge that one punch that broke their neck or spine. What was going on with these two? Were they…were they drugged? Enhanced?

He suppressed the memory that came when he reached that hypothesis and focused on dispatching his foe. But the first hostile –shorter hair, dispatched via broken arm and shattered chest- suddenly joined the fray again, lashing out at him with both her sword and her knife.

How? How was that possible? He had killed her, he had completely destroyed her chest cavity via that kick –she should be dead or dying. What had these people done to these females?

"Stupid human!" The recently healed one laughed. "Leave this artefact alone; do you wish to die?"

Artefact?

His right leg bumped into something solid and he heard a soft 'crack', which he quickly identified as a piece of wood being shattered.

He rolled to the side to dodge a synchronized swipe with the blades and threw a quick look at the object he had backed into. It hadn't been visible before, that was for sure. It was a white chest, chained up and emanating a strange humming. It was almost like it contained something alive…

…but it was important to these messed up females, so it was important to him. They cared for it, he wanted it.

He pushed the leading hostile back, smashing her chest with the butt of his rifle and then lashing out with his hind-leg in a roundhouse kick, sending her tumbling across the room too.

Time continued along in its slow, strange properties and he moved to engage the one with the shorter hair. He exchanged blows with her for a few seconds before he managed to get besides her. Then, he wrapped one arm around her throat and pulled her down, jerking his arm back and breaking her neck in multiple places. Her body was frail and thin, but on no way was it weak. Nevertheless, her bones were wrenched apart as easily as those of an Elite.

Not so very easy.

The woman screamed in agony and her body slammed to the ground, where she continued to writhe and crawl before her body simply…disappeared. It exploded in a cloud of black smoke, her disembodied voice screaming for at least two seconds before the smoke faded away.

What was that? Was he seeing things now? It was probably some sort of…new chemical weapon. Inducing hallucinations or the likes. These people were messed up –and they reminded him of an equally messed up enemy. .

He shot the lock securing the chest and it opened. Then, he avoided a strike from the other female and noticed how she had become increasingly fast –her strikes were strong and powerful, much like those of another Spartan. Her irises were a deep colour of red and she bore a sadistic smile.

He jumped backwards, not wanting to risk exposing himself further to these nonconventional attacks.

"Scared are we?" The remaining female snared at him, jabbing her sword at his helmet. He countered by shooting her in her kneecaps and elbows, making sure that she would at least stay incapacitated for long. She screamed in pain when he inflected those wounds, but before the four spent cases could even clatter to the ground, he turned around and kicked the chest open. Inside of it was a large, black gem easily larger than his gauntlet.

Was this what these biologically-altered females were guarding? A gem? Well, whatever it was, it was going with him.

He grabbed the gem and placed it in one the pouches where he normally stored C-12 explosives and other large objects.

Just when the female had regenerated her wounds, two seconds after he had shot her, he decided that he had stayed for long enough. The entire city would be ready for war at that moment and he needed to alert Captain Wren about the strange abilities and skills that these people had.

The Spartan then turned towards the exit and started to run, quickly reaching a speed of at least thirty miles per hour. He dashed through the hallway, jumped over the rubble that was left when he had first impacted on the building and then grabbed a hold of the rooftop in front of him, swinging himself on top of it. There were hundreds of people screaming for his blood, with at least a hundred men in red medieval chainmail and garbing closing in from both directions. He could stay engage them, but that would cost him valuable time and munition. If he encountered those messed up beings again he would need all the bullets he had.

So he decided that he would fall back for now, following the direction where the Dropship had probably gone to.

If he could find that direction though…

He sprinted across the rooftops, dodging the futile attacks of soldiers and larger machines like catapults. On several occasions his shields flared as if to repel some unseen assailant, but he never saw who or what had struck him. He didn't think too much about those things though; his gaze was focused on the large, heavy gates ahead. They were closing. Rapidly.

If those gates were to close before he got out, he would waste even more time trying to circumvent them. Even though the constant jumping over rooftops, dodging the attacks of primitive machines of war and thoughts about the monsters he had just faced were slowing him down, he still managed to outsprint everyone that came after him, One several occasions a group of soldiers had attempted to block his way, whom he had then proceeded to completely trample without stopping. A swing of his arm here and a quick punch there made short work of their formations with shields and by the time he had actually come close to the gates, a minute or two later, he had killed at least two dozen men simply by running past them and deflecting them.

He caught motion on his motion tracker, but he gave it no thought. He wanted out and that was he would get.

"Close them now!" A man on top of the giant walls screamed, but he was just too fast. He reached the two gates just as they were threatening to touch each other in a closing movement and wrenched his hands in-between them. Arrows and bolts of crossbows smashed into the stone walls and gates, but they barely put any strain on his shielding.

He gave a rough pull and grunted softly as he tore the two gates open. Those things had to be at least twenty-five meters tall. Whoever had built this had quite some time and supplies at his hands.

He managed to wrench one half of the gate open and quickly vaulted past it, escaping the strange and enormous city with the valuable item he had procured from those two enemies.

But he didn't stop there. He continued sprinting, moving one leg in front of another and concentrating on his breathing as he dashed over the landscape like a grey shadow. Only when he had put considerable distance between him and the city did he turn back, looking onto the fortress as he tried to make sense of what he had seen and done there.

Then, the Spartan noticed something. Just barely visible without the zooming function of his HUD, standing on top of the wall.

It was the woman he had fought in that building. She was standing on top of one of the pillars, holding onto the stone blocks as she stared at him. Her long, red hair drifting on the wind as she continued to keep him in her eyes.

And he stared back at her. Even with at least two-hundred meters of distance between him and her, the super-soldier could see the feral snarl on her face and the thin sword in her hand.

She was going after him. He was sure of that.

And he would be ready for that. With the odd gem secured in his pouch and his assault rifle back in his hands, he started to move in a direction that he soon determined to be the south-east. He had spotted some mountain ridges there and that was most likely where the dropship containing Captain Wren and the marines had gone.


	2. Improbable odds

"_Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven's Augmentation procedures will commence in thirty minutes. Is there anything you wish to point out before we start, Miss Sunfield?"_

"_Yes, I am rather curious about the process of the surgery. All the SPARTAN-II augmentations are included, aren't they?"_

"_Yes ma'am, they are."_

"_How are you so certain that the subject will survive the surgery at this age?"_

"_Three reasons ma'am. First: we have achieved some key developments on the area of bio-augmentations. The wash-out rate is lower than ten percent. Second: seven's a tough bastard. Third: the higher-ops from Section Seven are doing everything they can to increase their success rate."_

"_I see. Be careful and wish him luck."_

\- Conversation between Mental health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield and anonymous chief scientist member.

* * *

Of course. He should have known that it wasn't going to be as easy as he had thought.

The large city that the Spartan had stolen the black gem from was most likely the capital of the curious land. That meant that whoever was in direct control of the city was also in direct control over the rest of the country. That was how medieval settings usually worked.

Not that he was certain of the fact that these people actually lived in medieval settings. They had had a biological weapon strong enough to turn two women into warriors with the strength and durability of a Spartan –and a regeneration rivalled by none. There had been people firing projectiles at the Pelican all over the city, yet he had also seen hundreds of soldiers wielding crossbows, bow and arrows and all kinds of swords and spears. Those weapons generally didn't cause any harm to UNSC grade material.

There was more going on in this place…and he would like to find out just exactly what was going on.

However, as much as the Spartan wanted to meet up with his allies and investigate properly, he had still run into a snag. He had managed to flee the city with his price and head to the south, but the area he had then found himself in was teeming with hills and trees.

It was also teeming with soldiers. They wore the same red tunics as the men he had encountered in the capital city and they were all armed with broadswords and bows –barring the occasional crossbow, halberd and axe. Every now and then, a current of air lifted their tunics every now and then, revealing either leather body-armour or simple chain mail shirts.

They were way less armoured than the average Insurrectionist or Covenant warrior and those never stood a chance in close-combat with a Spartan. Even when he was unarmed and wounded, he could still take out up to four Elites, take their weapons and move on to hose the rest of their squads with lethal bolts of plasma.

Even better: although these soldiers superior numbers with their one-hundred and fifty men, they were scattered across the hills in their search for him.

The super-soldier had crouched down next to a large tree, halfway down the first hill. He could see at least four other hills he could move to, as well as enough trees and bushes to use as cover to avoid detection. However, these men posed virtually _no_ threat to him and if he let them stay on him, they might call for reinforcements

Besides; who knew if the same enhanced warriors were a part of these groups?

He could use some information on his current whereabouts, too.

The large group underneath him split up and ten soldiers moved to the left, while seven stayed their ground. He could see a few individuals with black cloaks spread throughout the group –those were the same type of hostiles that had attacked the Pelican.

His number one priority was taking them out. Possibly without alerting anyone.

He started making his way down the hill, trying to reach the closest group of soldiers without anyone spotting him.

No man was looking at him, he had caught them all by surprise. He was as silent as the dead; never making a sound and never betraying his presence to his enemies. And yet, as soon as he had reached the soldiers, one of the cloaked figures screamed "He's here!" and he was forced to accelerate his movements

These men had obviously been contacted and warned that someone had attacked the capital city. But there was no possible way that they could have figured out that he was there –nobody could have seen him. What had given his position away if not himself?

He wrapped his arms around the head of the first soldier and wrenched, popping the neck-vertebrae and killing him instantly. Before the body could even start to fall to the ground, The Spartan dashed forwards to engage the other men. The group he was currently fighting had seven initial armed men in it, as ten others had split up. The hills played a vital role in separating the soldiers, but that wouldn't last long.

He grabbed a man by the back of his head and punched him right above the Lumbar vertebrae, breaking his back. When the man fell through his knees, the super-soldier robbed him of his sword and broke his neck too. At that point, the screaming of the cloaked figure had called the attention of the rest of the men.

With the broadsword in one hand, he cleaved through the remaining five soldiers, killing them by decapitating them or by stabbing them through the chest, splitting their chest-bone in half. The piece of iron was worthless when compared to his other weapons, but he couldn't afford wasting ammo everytime he got himself in a conflict.

By the time the first group of soldiers had been dispatched of, the rest realized that their ranks had been infiltrated and they promptly moved to engage.

Not that it would help them; the Spartan rampaging in their midst was simply too fast. He had two goals in this engagements and when those had been reached, he would reorient himself to the south and keep moving. First he needed to eliminate the cloaked figures, as they would present the greatest threat. Then he needed to take a soldier and interrogate him, finding out just where he was and what was going on.

He dashed through the enemy lines, dealing death blows left and right with his sword, fist and legs. Everytime his body connected with someone, it spelled death. His sword flashed through the air like a silver blur, moving as fast as the Spartan wielding it and his unarmed blows rivalled the speed of his stolen broadsword, killing with pure blunt force trauma.

The soldiers might as well have been naked and unarmed before him, as they could not defend themselves nor could they strike the super-soldier.

And as the Spartan tore through the enemy lines, killing twenty-three men in one minute, he reached the first cloaked figure.

He was in the middle of twisting around to dodge the blade of a spear, placing his left shoulder in the direction of his target. He then brought his sword-arm to bear, dragging it through the air in an upwards arc, slicing at the figure from below.

But when the bladed edge of the sword impacted on the man's abdomen, he felt an unusual resistance. It was only there for a split-second, but it was noticeable enough. It was as if the sword had to sink through a thick layer of metal before suddenly plummeting through it, burying itself deep inside of the man's body.

A garbled cry escaped the cloaked figure's mouth as the broadsword cleaved through his body vertically, splitting his chest in half and killing him stone-dead.

As the cloaked man fell to the ground, he felt an unusual vibration running through the pouch where he contained the gem.

He gave the phenomenon no thought though, as more soldiers poured in through the hills and made their way towards him. They seemed absolutely terrified of him, yet they still chose to press the attack. Very well.

He discarded the broadsword, as he noticed that its usually sharp edge was already ragged and worn down. Those things weren't made to be used by someone with his strength; which was a positive thing. If the equipment for the soldiers on this world was meant for normal humans, those red-haired abominations couldn't be very common.

He pulled his combat knife out, wielding it horizontally with his right hand. The razor-sharp blade was aimed towards the group of advancing men, the edge of the knife pointing outwards. It would serve its purpose all too well, as he had used a similar one for six years in a row before it needed to be replaced. Actions taken with his knife usually ranged from prying through armour, slicing through iron-hard muscles and deflecting melee strikes from Elites and Brutes.

He could kill a thousand armored men with the knife and it still wouldn't wear itself down.

The Spartan didn't wait for the fifty or so males to surround him, but instead chose to go on the offensive himself. There were two cloaked figures spread throughout the ranks of the fifty men and both of them were currently raising their hands to signal the men to attack.

Curious outfit for army leaders though.

Time had slowed down since he had openly engaged the men and they moved as if they were suspended in honey; bringing their limbs to bear with a slowness that made it possible for him to kill them all within seconds. He was just too fast for these men –as he sprinted towards them, crossing the remaining ten meters within a second or two, they only managed to fire off a dozen arrows. Three of them impacted on his armour, but bounced off the shield harmlessly.

They only drained seven percent of his shielding.

And then he was right on top of the army. He punched the first man in his face, sending him tumbling into the arms of the men behind him, all of which fell to the ground in a heap. The Spartan's momentum had been enough to send them all flying, but some of them weren't dead yet.

The seven men he struck in the next two seconds, hitting them in the chest, side of head with well-placed jabs, hooks and uppercuts however, had no hopes of surviving. Every now and then he would feel the same strange resistance blocking his punch and on two occasions, what should have been a killing blow merely pushed a man backwards.

'_They are protected by some field,'_ He quickly realized, adapting his fighting style to match. When he fought grunts and humans, all he needed to kill them was one quick punch to the chest- or head-region. As such, when he had to dispatch a group of them in close-combat, he generally killed his targets with a single strike, allowing him to jump back and forth between the individuals that made up the bulk of the force to allow for quicker kills. When fighting Elites and Brutes in close-combat, however, that strategy didn't work. It was a rare day that he could kill one of those apes with a single strike and even Elites tended to survive the first impact at times. When he fought those two races, he would step closer after the first punch, bringing his body to bear for a few follow-up strikes.

And that was exactly what the super-soldier did to kill the strange shielded enemies. He slashed at one with his knife, noticed that he didn't cut through the carotid arteries like he had planned and stepped in to reengage the enemy. While his knife was still completing the slicing movement, he grabbed the man's face and pushed it backwards, exposing the throat for a follow-up strike. He then brought his knife down and this time, a small eruption of blood indicated that he had been successful.

After having killed fourteen men by means of precision melee strikes and knife-techniques, he reached the first cloaked figure. The man seemed to be chanting prayers, but that wouldn't serve him any good.

He dispatched of the man in the same execution manner as he had used before, but then he felt…_something…_ at the base of his skull, swimming around near his mind. It wasn't the same sensation that warned him of an impending sniper-shot or ambush. This was something else…annoying and semi-distracting.

His shielding dropped twenty percent all of a sudden, causing the Spartan to think that he had been shot.

But he hadn't felt anything, so it had to be fire of some sorts. Except that the internal temperature of his suit hadn't changed one bit…so what had happened?

A group of five men screamed in terror and threw their weapons down, surrendering to him and screaming something about a monster.

He ignored their attempts to get his attention and moved on to the second cloaked man, killing another seventeen soldiers with his adapted fighting style before he reached that man.

The figure extended both of his palms and a green light exploded from his hands, cascading through the air like an earthquake would tear the ground apart. He did not recognize it as a plasma discharge, neither was it the firing of a human weapon. That man was completely unarmed and yet he could unleash such a strange attack.

These humans were severely messed-up. He ducked underneath the double-handed strike and felt something hot race over his head, which_ did_ raise the internal temperature a few degrees. He struck at the man's midriff, sending him tumbling backwards and crashing into the side of a hill. Without waiting to see if the man had really been killed or not, he jumped after him and landed on all fours on the strange man's body, burying his knife up to the hilt into the man's jugular vein.

And that was the end of the cloaked figures in the armed group. After a fight that had taken him six minutes and fourteen seconds, he had eliminated over eighty man and the three people leading them. He still had all his ammo and at least two groups of a dozen men had run, deserting their unit to get to safety.

He wasn't done. He couldn't track and kill those men that had decided to run, as it would cost him too much time. However, he still had a group of fifty men to kill and from the looks of it, they were eager to fight him too. The brief lull in the fighting was enough for the men to spot him and one of them, whom he quickly identified as the leader, started to yell at him.

"Oi! You swine-bellied tick! Why don't you take your fancy breadknife and ram it up your-"

The Spartan threw his knife at the cussing man and hit him right between the eyes, impaling his brain and killing him dead. Before anyone could react to the death, the super-soldier charged closed in on the group and pulled the large combat knife out again, swiping it around to impale the next man.

By the point both the commander and the other guy were dead, the army started to descent into chaos. They simply lost their cohesion as many a man simply stood and watched or screamed and ran away while he mercilessly cut down everyone in his way, slaughtering the red-clad soldiers with their own weapons when his knife wasn't quick enough.

He grabbed the arm of a crossbow wielding man, slammed his knife into his neck and aimed the wooden weapon at a man running away. Then, he pulled the trigger and sent a metal bolt soaring through the air, ripping through the fleeing man's chain mail with ease.

He withdrew his knife and wiped it on the red tunic of a nearby corpse, not wanting to ruin the sheath that was attached to his chestplate with bits of gore.

Then, he grabbed a halberd and flung it at a group of three sword-wielding men, killing two of them and wounding the third.

The Spartan lost himself to the instincts of his body, descending deep into the gray state of his training, where there were no decisions made on the conscious level. Every action he took, every motion he made and every life he took were all direct consequences of the training that had spent years forging him into the soldier he was now. His training had taken over his mind.

The super-soldier fought for minutes at an end, moving faster than normal human eyes could possibly follow. He weaved back and forth between the dozens of soldiers, delivering lethal blows with every bladed weapon he could pry from the hands of his fallen foes. He jumped back and forth, alternating between breaking necks with his hands and skewering his enemies with stolen weapons. Swords seldom ever came close to touching him and on the rare occasion that a soldier was capable of striking at him, the blade merely bounced off of his shields and he retaliated with deadly force.

His vision had adopted the traits that made it easier for him to kill his enemies. Details were sharper, colours were both brighter as duller and the already slow movements of the jerky soldiers were even slower as his adrenaline-fueled body ran amok through their lines.

He sliced the head off of the nearest soldier and then grabbed his ally, lifting him up in the air by his throat.

Before he could squeeze and kill the man, he noticed that it was silent. Dead silent. His motion tracker didn't indicate any targets; it was empty.

He looked around the area, noticing the more than hundred corpses littering the area. All the soldiers were dead and the man whose larynx he was about to crush was the only soldier still alive.

He repressed the urge to kill him too and took a few deep breaths, calming himself. Sometimes, while in such close-quarters, he would lose himself in the fight in a different way than when he was operating a firearm. He would get increasingly aggressive, which –despite making his body more resilient and faster- was generally a bad thing. He was a very disciplined soldier; nothing got to him like it would get to normal marines. It was part of being a Spartan…yet every now and then, once in every ten melee conflicts, he would lose his calm.

This was such a conflict. He had been lucky to regain control over himself, as he would have killed the one person who could give him some Intel on what the hell was going on. Sloppy. Very sloppy.

The man was blubbering incoherently, unable to form complete sentences. The Spartan understood why that was. As the last bits of Adrenaline in his system faded away, he realized that the red coating on his normally dark-gray armour was in fact blood. The army stationed in these hills had consisted of roughly one-hundred fifty men. Twenty had gotten away, ten had attempted to surrender.

Including this man, it meant twenty survivors. "Who are you people!" Ha snapped at the man.

"P-please! Oh by the gods d-don't kill me! Oh god p-please!"

"Who. Are. You."

"I…I…I…am a swords-man in the i-imperial a-a-army…serving y-your majesty t-the King G-Galbatorix"

They served a king? "Why were you looking for me?"

"I-I don't know! Y-you were s-said to be a-a –an enemy of the e-empire…"

An empire ruled by a king. The UNSC had been attacked by an empire…and he was stuck in the middle of it."

"Where am I?"

"S-south of U-Uru'baen…"

He sighed, understanding that he was in a bad position. If he had just robbed the capital of an empire, before slaughtering the force that had been sent to deal with him, it would be the same as being stuck behind rebel lines. Killing everyone he encountered would become the norm.

And then there was the case of those strange, superpowered humans. "Who were those cloaked men?" He asked the captured soldier, gesturing to the mangled form of the black-garbed hostile.

"I-Imperial s-spellcasters s-sir!" The man told him. "P-please s-spare me sir!"

He lowered the body of the imperial soldier, grabbed with both hands and snapped his neck. The lifeless body slammed to the floor and he sighed in frustration.

Spellcasters? Seriously? Magic? That man had been messing with him.

He let his gaze run over the many dozens of bodies and he concluded that it would be better to avoid these patrols altogether. If he left a trail of destruction everywhere he went, he might as well not try to run at all.

The Spartan oriented himself towards the south and kept moving, still ignoring the faint trembling in his pouch. The miles faded away underneath his steady march and the hours crept by, signaled only by the soldier's steady breathing and rhythmic pounding of his heavy boots against the ground. The sun slowly descended, shrouding the land in more and more darkness until it had finally disappeared altogether –and the Spartan had reached a small forest.

Secret-Spartan-007 had been marching for many hours when he finally reached the forest, after having moved over a dozen hills, spread apart by dozens of miles. The soldier didn't know how much distance he had covered since moving away from the capital, but he did know his average marching-speed. The terrain had been uneven, but not difficult to cross. For eight hours he had moved and the average Spartan could easily reach more than fifty miles in eight hours…so he had crossed more than fifty miles in that day alone. During those movements, he had run into enemy patrols at least six times. He had evaded those soldiers on all but one occasion, during which he had ambushed a group of eight horse riders. He had left one soldier alive for a while, interrogating him to learn more.

Apparently, the continent where the UNSC had landed was called Alagaesia. He had learnt of the King, Galbatorix, fighting a war against a group of rebels called the Varden. But once the soldier had started to talk about elves in the forest of Du Weldenvarden and dwarves in the Beor Mountains, he had killed him. Why did these people think him to be mentally impaired? There was no such thing as magic and Elves and dwarves didn't exist.

But it was curious…very much so. This was a medieval setting and the soldiers couldn't have been communicating with each other over such distances. The men hadn't been looking for him when he ambushed them, so they couldn't have known about him. And when a heavily armoured, blood-smeared figure asked you for details, you didn't answer him with a sarcastic joke. No, both soldiers he had interrogated had been terrified, yet both of them had given him a similar answer. Magic…that didn't exist. But he had seen the methods those strange men had used when trying to kill him –the almost invisible strikes that had hit him and drained his shielding. There was someone behind all of this; someone who had brainwashed these people into thinking they were medieval, while at the same time messing with their bodies to allow for superhuman abilities. And if he were to guess, that person was named "Galbatorix", as that man was the king.

It wouldn't do him any good to keep on guessing about these things. It was obvious that these rebels had been testing with drugs…and he knew all too well what that could do to a normal human population. He would have to avoid all men, women and children in this country…lest her run into the same thing he had as five years ago.

He shook his head, forcing the rising memories away. He should really keep moving and find the Pelican dropship…even though he hadn't found it after eight hours of nonstop moving. The chances that he was going to find Captain Wren and his crew alive were very slim…and so were his chances at returning to the Frigate in geosynchronous orbit. The crew of the _When Duty Ends_ had messed up in their decisions and now he had to fix it all.

He stopped near a small river, his rifle at the ready and his senses tense. His motion tracker was showing him all kinds of contacts, but most of those had to be indigenous lifeforms. The soldiers couldn't have tracked him there, as he had moved too fast for them to follow. No, in the dark and wet forest, he was alone.

The last time he had had sustenance was approximately three hours before the Frigate would have arrived at 011's location. After that, they had spent at least two hours in slipspace before arriving at this planet. So it had been thirteen hours since he had last had something to drink and eat.

He could still go another forty hours, but now that he had water it would be a smart thing to use it.

He knelt down next to the river, brought his hands to his helmet, thought better of it and stood up again. He held no desire to take his helmet off, especially not in such a hostile environment. For all he knew, there could be someone with a sniper rifle aiming at him at that very moment. He would wait until he was in the definite clear before feeding himself.

But it was dark and he wanted to use the brief break in his pace to investigate a bit further. Of course there wouldn't be someone with a sniper aiming at him; he had made sure that he was alone in the forest.

The Spartan opened the pouch containing the gem and grabbed the jewel, being very careful not to damage it in the process.

The gem looked odd…weirdly shimmering, like a ripple in a calm pond, but still as smooth as the hull of a Covenant vehicle. He had felt the nonsensical desire to touch it…to run the bare skin of his hand across the surface of the gem. There was no reason for him to do something silly like that, but the desire was there.

The stone…it had been vibrating a bit when he had been fighting those soldiers. What could have caused that?

His HUD didn't signal any strange radiation warnings, neither could he discern anything else that might render it harmful. So what was it?

He slowly ran a finger down the gem, seeing if anything happened. Perhaps it was a gem that could change its facets, or it could be one of those dangerous Forerunner crystals, or perhaps it-

The Spartan dropped the gem and it landed in the wet leaves.

-it moved.

The gem had shaken on its own, without him forcing it to. Was that the trembling he had felt? The gem shaking? What sort of artefact was this thing?

He grabbed his combat knife and slowly tried to scrape the surface with the point.

Nothing happened. He couldn't damage the outer shell of the gem with his high-grade knife…that was a bad thing. At one point during his life, he had managed to create a scrape at the surface of the shield of a Hunter –shortly before said Hunter had pummeled his shielding down and knocked him through the wall of a building. But still, the fact that this gem was stronger than starship-grade alloy was…unnerving.

He grabbed the jewel and held it closer to his visor. The material didn't reflect his image at all…and was he imagining it, or did he hear soft…squealing noises? Yes, yes he did: it was a definite sort of squeaking. How strange…this material was exhibiting some serious anomalous properties. He should-

The gemstone shook heavily on his outstretched palm, rocketing against his fingers.

He felt the need to tighten his grip and crush the jewel, but he was unable to. Something in his mind held him back…it was if his training, the one thing that dictated his actions, prohibited him from doing what he felt like doing. It had always served some use in his life, but now…he didn't know what was going on.

A line appeared on the surface of the black gem; it resembled a crack, running in one direction before suddenly breaking off to another one. Had the prolonged human contact damaged it? Couldn't be; he was wearing armour.

Another crack appeared in the surface, then another.

Before he knew what was going on, the surfacing lines touched each other and formed a sloppy square. He was just about to try and take another attempt at scratching the surface when something surfaced from the shell.

He raised an eyebrow when he saw what had happened to gem –which should be reclassified as an egg. He had somehow managed to steal a black egg from the city instead of a valuable gem. It raised the question of why this…Galbatorix… had been trying to defend the egg so thoroughly. There wasn't a being alive that could come up with a plan to stop a Secret-Spartan, but still. Galby had been quite…obvious in his desire to keep the egg safe.

Why?

The head that peeked out from underneath the shell looked…awfully alien. He immediately felt the desire to kill it, but he suppressed that too. This thing might even be used as a bargaining chip.

The creature squiggled its way out of the shell with odd, unbalanced movements. It had a strange, angular body that was covered with black scales –as black as the egg had been, he realized. It possessed four limbs and a pair of wings, which spanned several times its body. The wings were ridged with thin, bony fingers that extended from the wing's front edge, resembling talons. The tiny reptile –for it was undoubtedly a reptile- wasn't much longer than two feet, ranging from the tip of its triangular snout to the tip of its long, flexible tail.

'_Don't let this thing be called a dragon…' _The Spartan thought and he knelt next to the reptilian creature. The people of…Alagaesia…had to worship these things, otherwise it wouldn't have been kept so secured. It must be part of some indigenous race of crocodilians, but only…with wings…a Komodo dragon, a poisonous creature native to earth, perhaps?

He had no clue as to what the thing was, but it obviously wasn't avian. It had ridges of bony protrusions running down its spine, from the base of its skull to an absence on its shoulders, all the way to the end of its tail.

It looked like a predator alright, white shining white talons and teeth. The Spartan kept perfectly still, having no clue as to what this thing was and what to do at that moment. He watched as the draconic creature slowly turned around and then focused on his visor, staring at him with its sharp, yellow eyes.

As soon as the creature looked him in his eyes, he felt something weird. Like…a ripple in his mind, similar to what he had felt before. Only it was stronger this time, overcoming the natural thoughts he had until only one desire remained in his head, like a feverish obsession.

It wasn't something he couldn't overcome within a micro-second, but it was very strange. It was almost like this creature somehow managed to send signals to his neural interface to cause such feelings.

It was completely impossible of course, but still.

He wanted to touch the creature, see what that would do. It was the most basic need he felt in his mind, just like he had felt the desire to touch the gem itself. It might be pheromones influencing him, as some animals used smells and other signals to lure their prey…before devouring them.

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. And while he slowly took his right gauntlet off, placing the combat knife into his left one, he silently berated himself for actually executing it.

The reptile stared at him with its sharp, penetrating eyes while he worked his gauntlet off. Eventually, he had bared his hand and placed his gauntlet on the ground.

The super-soldier frowned as he beheld the deep paleness of his skin, caused by years of encasement within his MJOLNIR. He liked being in his armour; it protected him against more than just physical damage. Within it, he was safe. Without it, he was naked. He hated having to remove a part of something that was as much a part of him as his own mind was, but he couldn't help it. Something compelled him to do so…and if he was right…his situation would be worse off than he had expected

He brought his hand down to the animal, ignoring its pitiful attempts to smell at his fingers. He touched the reptilian on its head –and immediately felt an extreme surge of activity prickling his hand, extending itself throughout his arm while overstimulating each and every nerve, vein and tendon in his limb. It wasn't very pleasant. A bright, white flash blinded his eyes and he sharply inhaled when he felt a burning sensation spread itself throughout his entire body. The intense coldness of it all was unlike anything he had felt before; it left a great emptiness behind in its wake, like he had just been chained up and sentenced to prison. The sensation was completely new to him and he instinctively jerked away, moving his leg backward to prevent himself from falling over.

The white flash disappeared, leaving blinded for only a few more seconds before his sensitive eyes adapted to the dark environment once more. A brief shimmer flowed across the surface of his mind, quickly extending itself, extrapolating itself around his awareness. The sensation was strange…almost like something tried to force itself into his mind.

The tiny reptile yelped all of a sudden, sinking through its clawed legs and falling into a small heap, where it stayed.

The contact on his mind tore away, leaving alone in his head.

But something else was there now, a feverish trembling that quickly filled in the emptiness left behind by the brief contact. He exhaled and groaned when the sickening pulses hemorrhaged through his entire body, reaching towards his very core before they faded away from the outside.

The soldier checked his suit's internal temperature, made sure that he wasn't being surrendered and then took the time to search his hand for any wounds. He had been poisoned, that was the only possible explanation. This creature was a venomous reptile and he should kill it, important or not.

But there wasn't anything on his hand that signaled skin-damage. What was there however, was a white and shimmering scar. It had the shape of a damaged opal…and it itched considerably. Only…it wasn't a scar. It didn't look natural, but it wasn't damage. It didn't feel wrong in any way, it…was just there.

He snatched his gauntlet off of the ground and slapped it on again, taking great care to enact the proper procedure and integrate it with the rest of his suit.

After reattaching the gauntlet to his right hand, the Spartan took another look at the dragon-thing. It was still lying on the floor, motionless. It was almost as if it had burned off all its energy in an attempt to chase him away.

He frowned, not understanding why he had ever taken his gauntlet off. He might have been poisoned through the skin contact with the animal, which was probably meant to serve as a biological weapon. But that didn't explain what he had felt against his mind…and it also didn't explain why the creature had almost looked like it had wanted him to touch it.

He should leave the creature behind and move on…he still had a long ways to go to reach the UNSC and he didn't have the time or patience to haul an obviously dangerous animal with him.

Looking down at the creature again, he noticed that it was kicking with its legs. Its mouth was hanging open in a silent scream and a small circle of smoke escaped its nostrils.

He froze when he saw the black smoke appear, immediately linking it with one word.

'_Dragon,'_ He thought, '_It's a dragon.'_

But that was impossible! Dragon's didn't exist and neither did magic. It was so obvious, someone was trying to make a world reminiscent of a classic medieval story. Magic…dragons…all so pathetic. It didn't explain how that person had possibly created something that was so realistically draconic, but still. This had to be a mistake…all of it. He couldn't possibly be stuck on some backwater planet in the presence of a poisonous dragon.

He sighed, realizing what needed to be done. He needed to ask someone for assistance…he needed to know about the viability of a dragon being real.

Unless…every Spartan had had physics in the past. Was there a chance that on some planet, there had really been an evolutionary process resulting in dragons? Or had the Forerunners, in their ancient desire to meddle and experiment, creating them?

He needed more answers, and until he had them he couldn't judge. And this creature had obviously been important to his enemy. No, he couldn't kill it. He would take it with him and perhaps travel to the Varden, to see if they might offer him assistance.

He scooped the little, black dragon up from the ground –it offered no resistance despite the fact that it had attempted to harm him. Well…it hadn't actually penetrated his skin or drawn any blood. It had simply allowed him to touch it.

With the small reptile in his arms, he started moving again. It didn't take him very long to exit the forest and travel towards the next place of interest. He had his eyes set on a small city south of the forest, one he had spotted when he had been standing on top of another, especially large hill. Only with the magnification on his visor set to the most extreme range did he see what was moving around the town.

More soldiers in red was what was moving around the town.

The Spartan started making his way down the slope, leaving the small forest far behind him. In the thirty minutes he had spent making his way from the place of hatching and the hill he was standing on at the moment, the little dragon had recovered and started to exhibit a large amount of animal behaviour.

It had started to growl, twist and trash around in his arms, trying to escape his grasp.

"Easy," He told the thing, still not knowing why the creature had been able to force such major biological effects onto him. Every now and then something touched his mind, trying to break through…something that was _on_ his mind. It was as if some external instinct was attempting to get through to him, telling him things.

Of course, such an experience could be explained by all kinds of things. Hallucinations brought upon by the might-be poison of the dragon…some other, external source that might be influencing his sanity in some way or the other.

But…he didn't really think it was anything like that. He had felt the "experience" only after the brief and explosive contact with the little animal, leading him to think that it might be the diminutive reptile that had sought contact with his mind.

It HAD been a sense of hunger that he had been feeling in the back of his mind…it could be explained as the creature somehow having tapped into his neural interface, sending him signals to allow him to understand what it wanted. That could easily explain it to be the apex predator on this world, referred by the primitive humans. The question was…just what did it want?

This whole thing was a bit strange. He knew that his own body was intimately linked with his suit; his thoughts were all converted into signals for the MJOLNIR to undertake. If he thought of a movement, the suit performed it. Things didn't just interfere with it, that just didn't happen. Whatever he was feeling had to be something exerted on his mind and his mind alone…or it was so incredibly powerful that it COULD interfere with his neural interface, in which case he was in really deep trouble. But…the sensations hadn't been as strong as to actually make him do anything. They were just there…like a dropship trying to enter a sealed Carrier.

The dragon crawled to the top of his helmet and curled its long, slender tail around his neck-seal. Had the creature not been so playful with its movements, he might thought of its actions as hostile.

But the dragon-thing hadn't openly been hostile to him.

The Spartan reached the bottom of the hill and swept his recently re-equipped assault rifle through the bushes, checking for potential scouts searching for him.

The soldier didn't see any humans. What he _did_ see was a deer, suddenly looking up and sprinting away. The movement was enough to make him drop to a crouch and remove the safety of his weapon, but once he had identified the target as nonhostile and herbivorous, he eased up.

The presence on top of his mind did not. He felt another, vague tendril slapping against what he liked to think of as his Carrier; his mind was the armoured ship, impenetrable. The presence –which had to be the dragon- was the Pelican dropship attempting to enter. He could touch, but it couldn't get through.

And the tendril only had thing it wanted to tell him: that the dragon was hungry.

Being ambushed by ancient alien robots, sent through another dimension into a world with biologically altered humans and here he was, stuck with a hungry dragon.

But…if this creature was capable of interfering with his Neural interface or worse, capable of telepathic signals, he needed to be very careful. It might grow unstable when it saw too much.

He kept walking for another hour, during which he almost reached the village he had seen. He just had to move through another series of forests before he could get to civilization. It was a smaller wooded area, not much longer or wider than a kilometer. The geology of this land seemed to vary greatly; he had seen large mountains, yet the entire distance between Uru'baen and the forest he currently found himself in had mostly been bare. Large, wide open plains, forests and the like.

A sudden signal on his motion tracker caught his attention and he brought his rifle to bear. The dragon perched on his head grew uneasy and started to squeal loudly, scratching against his dark helmet with its tiny claws.

His motion tracker only identified UNSC signals as his allies, while only identifying Covenant signals as his targets. Everything else appeared like grey circles on the scanner, ranging from small dots to large blips.

And three circles were currently moving towards him, faster than humans could.

The Spartan flicked his safety off and readied his rifle, waiting for the hostiles to show themselves. The dragon was scrambling like mad to stay on top of his head, not realizing that its own frantic movements were causing it to lose his balance in the first place.

The howling of wolves tore through the night and he relaxed. The dragon –which might have imprinted him as his mother, he came to realize- got even more scared if that was possible. It jumped off of his head and touched down on the ground, but it slipped in a patch of grass and fell flat on its stomach.

"Bad idea," He told the dragon, but then the wolves were upon them. There were three of them, large grey and vicious. They seemed larger than the ones in his memory, but he had never really seen a wolf in real life before, so…

The dragon screeched with terror and the first wolf lunged for it, intent on tearing it apart with its blinkering teeth-

-only to receive a crushing kick to its head, cracking its skull and killing it in one hit. The lifeless corpse sailed through the air and impacted on a tree, where it slid down and landed on the ground in a worthless heap.

He wanted to refrain from firing his weapon this close to the city and neither did he want to waste munition on wild animals.

The second wolf jumped at him this time. Its scrambling paws allowed it to pick up an impressive pace before it jumped at the Spartan. However, the wolf's head proved to have a critical weakness to blades being shoved through it. The soldier lashed out with his combat knife and jammed it into the canine's skull, earning his second kill that night.

The Spartan then pulled his knife out, spun around and instinctively brought an arm up to defend himself, as the last wolf had chosen that moment to ignore the deaths of its packmates and continue the hunt.

Its jaws were lined with razor-sharp teeth; canines intent on penetrating and molars intent on cutting and crushing. He had learned that wolfs were capable of crushing bones with a well-placed bite…however, that didn't seem to go with MJOLNIR armour. The soldier allowed the beast to impact on his body, watching as it broke its teeth off on the grey arm.

Then, he grabbed the neck of the hound with his other hand and squeezed. The wolf whined and thrashed until he felt its bone snap in a sickening crunch, at which point the wolf gave one more spasm before it died.

He threw the dead carcass to the ground, shaking his head. Wasted time and wasted energy were never positive things. And tomorrow-morning, hunters would find the bodies of three killed wolves, one of which had a set of broken teeth. If that didn't serve as a trail for the experienced tracker, he didn't know what did.

The terrified dragon leaped up to meet his face, flapping twice with its wings to allow it to remain airborne for a bit longer. The annoying presence on his mind fluctuated; now there was a secondary trait added to the first one. Instead of just 'hunger', he now felt 'relieve' too. The signal was definitely coming from the reptile, it was somehow touching his consciousness with its own mind.

But he hadn't missed the intent behind the signal, oh no. This thing was hungry.

"Five minutes," He told the dragon, feeling stupid for talking to an animal. The stupid beast was still clinging to his visor, scratching his helmet with its claws in an attempt to gain some height. How did that communication work again? Through the mind? Well, he had no idea how to do that and quite frankly, he didn't care. He wanted to find the Pelican dropship, save the captain and his crew if possible, find a way back to the _When Duty Ends_ and repair it. Then he wanted to call for UNSC reinforcements and find out just what was wrong with this world…with these people.

He was losing his patience very fast. He closed his eyes and focused on the little annoying blimp that was attached to his mind: the dragon's consciousness. Doing so was akin to him opening the hangar bay, floating out of the carrier, closing the bays again and moving on to the dragon's mind. Then, he cooked up the perfect educational message: '_Eat or starve.'_

The dragon lowered its front-paws, pulled its head away from his visor and stared at him with those deep, surprisingly intelligent eyes.

He stared right back at it, aware of the fact that it was only an animal that couldn't understand him.

But then, much to his surprise, the dragon released him and moved towards the broken body of the first wolf, the one who had attacked her.

It turned its neck and looked at him again.

He held up five fingers and marched past her, trying to determine where he had been heading before the unfortunate timing of the wolves.

A loud, tearing noise behind him indicated that the little abomination had indeed gotten the message. Curious. So it was more intelligent than he had thought it to be-

-he turned around, his rifle aimed at the petite back of the reptile. He had concentrated on a message…in HIS language. Near HIS mind. So how had the dragon understood him? It didn't make sense…unless the dragon was telepathic. And if the dragon was telepathic –for whatever bizarre biological reason- it meant that his own thoughts weren't secure.

He watched the reptile tear at the body of the wolf, ripping through its flesh with ease as the razor-sharp teeth tore deep into the carcass. The thing had a strong jawline, he had to give it that.

If the dragon was intelligent enough to understand his language…to understand _him_…it meant a human-level consciousness. As such, this creature would be truly important to the UNSC. He needed it alive.

He waited for exactly five minutes for the animal to finish before he grabbed hold of it and pried it away from its meal. It was such a tiny thing, not much larger than a cat. Why did it have such an appetite? Where did all that meat go?

Unless it was going to have a growing-spurt…dragons tended to be very large in human lore.

He sighed, wishing he had more information. There were two options: either this world was a true medieval one possibly made by the Forerunners, or this world was a rebel base where the leaders were playing an excessively filthy game. He didn't hold it above them, that was for damn sure.

With the dragon in tow, he made his way to the village. The Spartan and the dragon stopped, however, when the former suddenly thought of something.

'_They won't help if I show up there,'_ He realized. He had murdered his way past more than a hundred imperial men that day alone, stealing their national treasure in the meantime. Whichever method these people used to send messages –if it even was anything else than a radar system- had to be very fast. The men searching for him had known who he was and where he was going…so if he was to risk entering the village, he would need to leave the dragon behind briefly.

He was going to hunt for some information.

The soldier slowly opened the steel walls around his mind again, allowed a thought of his to slip out and then searched for what he had determined to be the dragon's consciousness. '_Stay here,'_ He told the beast.

The tendril of thoughts that the animal extended in return was clear. _Curiosity._

It wanted to know where he was going –the thing was actually aware of the things that happened around it.

'_Information,´_ he then told it and looked for a sufficiently tall tree where it could stay, safe from other predators looking for it. The blood it had spilled that night was bound to attract other predators.

He looked around, before noticing a particularly large one. It reached easily taller than twenty meters /and it was climbable for him. He hoped.

He looked at a large branch and grabbed the dragon by its back, lifting it in the air with ease. ´_Safe,´_ he told it.

The dragon didn't respond, but neither did it fight against his grip. It allowed itself to be lifted in the air by his ice-cold gauntlets, giving the soldier more than enough chance to fling it high up the tree. It flapped with its wings in an undignified manner, not having expected to be thrown up there.

It quickly jumped up another branch and then turned around, extending its long neck towards him and glaring at him.

The Spartan almost thought that the creature had a mildly amused look on its face.

He marked the tree with his knife and then moved out of the forest, making his way to the city. It was encircled by a wall, with the occasional guard patrolling over its edge. He needed one of those guards; they were bound to know something.

The Spartan moved like a shadows creeping over the grasslands, graceful as water and fast like a bird. No man ever spotted him and within a few seconds, he had made his way to the base of the wall.

It was a meter of five high, but nothing he couldn't handle.

The super-soldier braced himself and then jumped, the force-enhancing circuits in his MJOLNIR extending the height he could reach by a full two meters. His fingers wrapped themselves around the edge and he pulled himself up, sticking his head over the dark wall. The night was dark and the wind was loud ,masking each and every sign that someone was possibly infiltrating the city.

After a minute of him hanging there, one of the guards moved closer in his patrol, walking right in front of him.

He shot out with his left arm, grabbing the tunic of the man's back and pulling him right over the edge. He needed the man alive, so he couldn't just throw him to the ground. The guard might break his legs and the screaming would wake every single man, woman and child in the city.

So he broke his fall, slowing himself by jamming his armoured hand into the wall, keeping his other hand over the man's mouth to prevent him from screaming.

With the guard secured in his grasp, he retreated back into the forest. If the man decided to be stupid and scream, nobody would hear him.

The Spartan dumped the body of the unfortunate male onto the ground and pulled out his knife, pointing it as his target's face.

"Scream and you're dead," He snapped at the man, taking notice of the gray hair and beard adorning his head. This man was easily older than sixty years...and looked rather familiar.

He didn't give his memories the chance to surface and focused on what needed to be done. The guard seemed to understand his order, as he did not scream.

"Who in the blazes are you?" The man asked.

"I need answers," He told the old guy. "I'm not from around."

The prisoner looked around warily, taking in the cold and dark environment. "Answers you couldn't get over some mead and a few coins?"

The Spartan ignored that. "You with Galbatorix?"

The man scoffed. "I protect the city of Furnost I do! It might be part of the empire, but I serve my lady."

"Your lady?"

The man sighed. "Where are you from kid-"

He grabbed the man by the front of his clothes and jammed the knife against his throat, putting a slight pressure on the blade. "Don't. Only talk when I ask you."

The man nervously eyed the black steel pressed against his throat, but his eyes quickly shot back up to the dark-gray helmet in front of him. "A-alright then…no need for violence."

He withdrew his knife and waited for the man to finish.

"The lady Tarana…is my liegelord. She rules the city of Furnost with a gentle hand…and the men are loyal to her, not to the King."

"Are you people rebels?"

The man stared at him, an incredulous expression on his face. "I just…I just told you that I serve the city of Fur-"

"I got that."

The Spartan sighed, understanding that his situation was very difficult. "Where did you people come from, in this…Alagaesia?"

The man laughed, sounding like an old crow. "You must truly be from somewhere else. Our people came from overseas, thousands of years ago. Ol' Palancar the mad, we called the one who led us here. Vanquished by the elves he was, three times. Then, his son took his life…and humans knew peace. Didn't take long-"

He disregarded the need to rip the man's head off and interrupted him. "Lie to me again and I will cut your fingers off. Elves?"

His threat had hit home alright; the man opened his mouth to say something, but thought better and quickly closed it. Then he opened his mouth and gasped for air. Closed his mouth again. Eventually…"I want to answer you…heavens know I do…but I don't know what you know. You might see my answers as lies if you have never encountered the before, please…just…keep an open mind."

He sighed, understanding what the old guy meant. If one of these people had captured a marine on Earth and demanded to know what the things around him were, that man or woman wouldn't believe the marine either. If this man spoke the truth, these people weren't Insurrectionists. And that would make his troubles only bigger.

"I come from the stars," He cautiously told the senior. "Now tell me, where-"

The man gasped again and crawled backwards, looking more scared than he had looked when faced with the concept of death. His eyes seemed to bulge out of his head and he grew very pale. "The Prophecy is true! The traveler from the stars, here! Please, just…show mercy! I will answer your questions but…please have mercy!"

The Spartan didn't know of any prophecy, but he wanted answers more than he wanted to interrupt the man. "Good. Elves?"

"Yes lord-"

Lord?

"-in the forests to the north, the forests of Du Weldenvarden!"

He sighed, seeing that he had traveled to the wrong side of the country. No matter. "Why do people talk of magic?"

"Yes, magic! Elves can use it, dragons could use it and there are humans who can use it!"

"What is magic?"

"Magic…it is the force allows one to manipulate energy with _your mind!_"

Did that last part needed to be whispered so dramatically? "What do you know of dragons?"

"Lord, I cannot tell you too much…if the king would hear me, he would chop my head right off!"

Even though the old guard spoke like he couldn't say anything, his excited demeanor still indicated that he did want to talk about it. He had shifted from fear to surprise to mortal fear and then…an almost religious agitation. It was very strange…but the man was a goldmine of Intel.

"Why would the king do that?"

"Because people say he was responsible for the fall of the Riders."

"The Riders?"

The man nodded, looking increasingly nervous. "Legend has it that the elves had a magical pact with the dragons…forming a group of peacekeepers called the Dragon Riders. Soon, the humans joined in the pact. Legend has it that Galbatorix was a Rider, before he destroyed their order and formed the Empire."

"Dragons?"

"The rumors differ lord! Some say that dragons are all but extinct, others say that they have never existed. Legends is all that remains…and I don't know more of it. I am deeply sorry."

His fear was gone now. There was only the almost feverish awe that lined his intonation…an awe that might have originated from the Spartan's blood-smeared armour, frightening appearance or otherwise unworldly presence. Or perhaps it was due to the content of this…Prophecy…the man talked about.

"What do you know of dragons?"

"Nothing sir, nothing that aren't there in the legends. They could breathe fire…change the world at their whim. They were said to be more intelligent than men or dwarves!"

…dwarves?

"Where do these…dwarves…live?"

"In the Beor Mountains, to the south. Rumor has it…" The man's voice dropped to a whisper, "…that the Varden is hiding somewhere in the Beor Mountains. I don't know anything about you Lord, and please don't tell me more. But I ask of you the following: if I tell you how to reach the Beor Mountains, will you reconsider?"

Whatever. "No promises."

"Is all I need. Travel south, alongside the edge of the Tüdosten Lake. Then, you will find a city called Petrovya. Head east from there."

He got to his feet, rising in his full seven feet of MJOLNIR-clad height. He had a dilemma now. "Why are you helping me?"

"There are many evils at work in our Alagaesia, lord. Urgals…spies and murder. If you truly came from the stars…and someone were to show you kindness…you might reconsider."

'_Reconsider what?'_ The Spartan thought to himself. Even if this man were to show him kindness –which he didn't, he only told him useful information- it wouldn't take his foremost problem away. This man had seen him; a stranger clad in armour, asking dangerous questions. If this old man survived, he would spread the word and soon, every city would know about him. He couldn't have that –he would have to kill this man.

On the other hand…it wasn't as if he would blend in otherwise. He did not know how to act inconspicuous in a crowd –and his armour didn't make it easier on him. The only way for him to truly infiltrate the society was to take his armour off. And he would never do that. Whether this man survived or not…he wouldn't be able to blend in in the empire of Galbatorix. He would need to find the…Varden…in the Beor Mountains. They fought the empire from what he had gathered –they would give him all the Intel he needed. The easy way or the hard way.

Regardless, this man was a threat. He had been plucked from the city and he would be missed. He could not be left alive. Not now…he knew his duty. He couldn't get compromised.

He reached out and grabbed the prone man, lifting him in the air and turning him around. Then, the super-soldier snaked his arm around the senior's throat and placed his other hand in front of his mouth, to prevent him from screaming.

The man's face…it had been so familiar. And he knew why it had looked familiar. This entire world reminded him of it…

He pulled tighter, ignoring the man's frantic spasms and jerking. He counted down from four to zero once the body had stopped moving and then let it go.

The Spartan moved to the tree where he had hidden his dragon, seeking its mind out while positioning himself on the thickest branch. Placing the motionless body on two moderately sturdy branches, he told the dragon that they were going to keep moving.

And as the winged creature –said to be capable of feats like magic and above-human intelligence- flew towards him, he gave the body of the guard –whom he had strangled into unconsciousness- no more thought.

He had a mission to complete: first the Varden, then Wren and then the UNSC.

And then he would see what to do with the dragon.

* * *

"_The project is a success. Thirteen Spartans- that is, Secret-Spartans, are fully functional and working at full capacity. After five years of service, there has been not a single casualty. And some of their missions had odds that stood as pronounced as 1 to 10!"_

"_But?"_

_Seeing as we started the project at an average age of four years old…our indoctrination procedures were very thorough. They are soldiers all right- but that is it. Operatives that can only function as long as they are send on missions and battles- we have been able to glean off some details about their individual personality's ma'am. I will send you the reports this evening."_

"_See to it that you will, Colonel."_

\- Conversation between Colonel Ackerson and Admiral Parangosky.


	3. The virtue of patience

"_You must find the one responsible for this…and bring him back. Alive. Employ the heightened drug…it was effective enough to incapacitate the elf."_

"_I have gleamed off a small portion of his mind...a segment devoted to survival skills. Even though the defenses around his were crudely effective, I have still found a way to intoxicate him."_

"_Make it happen Raia."_

"_Thy will be done."_

\- Conversation between "Shade" designated 'Raia' and unnamed individual, 14 hours after UNSC asset SS-007 infiltration of Uru'baen.

* * *

The stone and wooden city of Furnost, as the guardsman had described, was larger than he had initially thought. There were up to fifty houses and other buildings spread around its walls and in the center stood a large castle, towering over all the other structures. Even though these cities were clearly built to resemble a medieval style, they were larger than he had expected. And there were plenty of patrols, too. Everywhere he looked were the red-clad shapes of imperial soldiers…and he had no intention of clashing with them again.

The Spartan wanted to stick as close to the city as possible without being spotted, as every encounter with his enemy would be an encounter he could learn from. But he didn't want to be seen, as that meant he would have to engage the entire city. That wasn't an enticing thought –the violence would probably attract every soldier in a ten-mile radius. And seeing as this empire had the capability to send information faster than he could march, he would run into more and more soldiers to the point he would be forced to use his weapons.

He did not want that, so he kept his head low and kept moving. It was still dark and the few kilometers he could clearly see in front of him, were all as flat as possible. The occasional hill elevated the landscape at times, but most of it was devoid of cover. Approximately thirty kilometers ahead, close to the giant lake, was a large forest.

With the dragon in tow, he moved past the small hills that lay in his path. The guard had been right; there really was a large lake to the east of the city. So there was a possibility that the man had also been truthful about other things. The problem was that, while he could easily cross the remaining distance between the city and the large forest that lay ahead underwater, he still had a scaled appendage that did not have the capability of breathing underwater.

He had an hour of oxygen in reserves, while the dragon had just left its egg. And it probably couldn't hold its breath very long, so the idea of traveling via water was already compromised. As such, they were taking the western, more scenic route.

The Spartan and the dragon had been moving for an additional hour, easily crossing another fifteen kilometers without being spotted, before the soldier suddenly felt another strange jab at the corner of his mind. He turned around as soon as he recognized it, feeling frustrated.

"Again?" He asked the dragon. He had felt the same tendril of thoughts that had indicated its hunger once before, right when the wolves had attacked him.

The black creature –for he still didn't know for sure whether it was a male or a female- had been alternating between wildly flapping its wings to fly after him and sitting on his shoulder or helmet. Sometimes he got the impression that it was a male and sometimes he got the impression that it was a female. But what he did know for sure was that the dragon was hungry once again.

It hadn't even been two hours after its last dinner.

The black reptile shrieked softly and swept its tail softly against his visor. What could he get it to eat? He could find some native animals for it to hunt and kill…or he could find out whether the dragon ate humans or not.

No. When he would be forced to crank his guerilla warfare up to eleven and times turned lean, the dragon could eat humans. Desperate times called for desperate tactics –and he rarely ever felt desperate.

He looked around carefully, eyeing the hills around him. He still had a long way to go until he reached the forest and he didn't want to waste any time. The creature could eat when he had reached the cover of the treeline and not a moment sooner.

The little consciousness kept brushing against his mind, attempting to get his attention. But the Spartan knew what the dragon wanted and he didn't care. He had way better things to do; like finding the crashed Captain Wren and his crew. They were stuck in the middle of a hostile empire that was in possession of strange abilities. If he didn't get somewhere soon, he was going to lose more than just valuable time.

In the end, the super-soldier decided that he was moving too slow and promptly burst into running, greatly increasing his speed while foregoing the stealthy advances he had first chosen. He was well past the city at that point and while it was night, no human would see him coming.

He had chosen his armour colours exactly for that reason –while other Secret-Spartans wanted to maintain their stealth to get to their objectives unnoticed, he aimed at using his covertness to close in on his enemies and kill them with one single move. It was the sole reason for the black-gray tint of his MJOLNIR Mk VI armour. The only part of his suit that wasn't dark as the night was his visor, which was tinted in a subtle red colour.

All in all he would be pretty much invisible in the cover of the night, noticed only when it would be too late for his target to notice him.

In his hands he carried the powerful MA5E Assault rifle, the newest version of the MA5-series. It hadn't seen mass-production yet, as it had specifically been designed for the Secret-Spartan operatives. It could carry the munition clips of the older series if needed, but he preferred to use the special munition that had been designed to use with the rifle. The major difference between it and the previous versions –the ones used by the Marines of the _When Duty Ends_\- was the munition. The MA5E version was compatible with the normal 7.62 mm clips, but it was designed with a higher-caliber munition in mind. As such, a soldier wielding the rifle was able to dish out more damage than other soldiers, without sacrificing ammo capacity. If he needed to, he could insert clips from the older MA5C rifles to supplement his firepower. Other features were an integrated optical scope with zooming function and a detachable bipod system. When needed to, he could take single shots from a long distance without sacrificing accuracy…although he could never reach the devastating effects that a normal Sniper Rifle caused. Still, in the hands of a capable marksman, the MA5E could rank up kills at a range easily two times the range of the other MA5 series.

Other than that, it resembled the MA5B series with the magazine size; the seven clips he carried with him all had a total of sixty rounds slotted into them. If he was very careful with aiming, he could reach up to four-hundred-twenty kills. But only if he was very careful.

The dragon screeched in annoyance and attempted to catch up to him, but he had moved too sudden and too fast for it to reach him.

He turned around and saw that the thing was slowly circling around and aiming at the ground, refusing to go with him at such speeds.

The Spartan huffed in annoyance and stopped running, understanding perfectly that this thing was too important to be left behind.

"Move it," he told it impatiently, gesturing with his rifle to the distant forest.

The black dragon bared its teeth and took flight again, spreading its wings and catching an upwards drift in the wind. But it took too long to reach him, even though it desperately swung its wings up and down in an attempt to reach a good speed.

In the end, the Super-Soldier grew tired of watching the pathetic animal blunder about in the wind and moved back, retrieving the cumbersome reptile. He reached out and it landed on his arm, wrapping its long tail around his armoured forearm and pressing its small body tightly against the cold metal.

It was curious that this animal seemed to like him so much, even though he himself did not remotely care for it.

Her. Him. What gender was it now, really?

The Spartan gently pried to black flyer off of his arm and held it in the air with one hand, keeping it upright by its back. The reptile started to squeal in protest and indignity, but he ignored it and started probing its belly with his index finger for any signs of malehood…or womanhood.

As he traced the lighter scales on its belly, he noticed that the creature quickly stopped resisting him and relaxed in his grasp. While he hadn't found anything that could determine its sex, he had found a way to calm it down if needed. But he didn't feel like rubbing the thing's belly everytime it acted up and besides; he wouldn't stay paired up with it for long.

Find UNSC, dump dragon, overthrow pitiful empire. Those three things were on his list and he would do anything to reach his goals.

The soldier placed the dragon right back on his shoulder and resumed running, slipping into a lapse of action as his legs methodically thundered over the terrain. Despite having been moving nonstop since the touchdown near Uru'baen, roughly ten hours ago, he didn't feel remotely worn out. But while he ran across the dark, bumpy landscape, he noticed that the dragon gradually ceased activity, until it was silent altogether.

Even the irritating presence near his mind faded away after an hour of nonstop running. After he had crossed the remaining thirty kilometers between the city and the forest in little more than sixty-five minutes, he finally came to a halt at the edge of the forest.

He scanned the surrounding area with his assault rifle and then lowered it, slowly moving deeper into its dark bowels. The nagging mind of the dragon suddenly came crashing into his own mind with the force of a common fly and he ignored its pleads and attempts at communication. He knew that it was hungry, but it could sleep later.

After all, the dragon had hatched in the middle of the night. By that reasoning, it had only been awake for three hours.

The Spartan trotted a good hundred meters into the dark forest before he oriented towards the south again. Eventually, he spotted a dark shape moving through the wet leaves and he crouched down, observing the moving animal. His eyes had been augmented to such a degree that he could see almost perfectly in the dark. He spotted a green snake slithering away and slowly pulled out his black Titanium combat knife, poising it to throw.

The dragon cocked its heads sideways and the super-soldier flung his knife at the snake, spearing its head and pinning it to the ground.

The reptile was dead before it knew what had happened.

He reached out and retrieved his knife, sliding it back into its holster after wiping off the blood that had stained the blade. "Eat up," he told the dragon and then started eyeing his environment, searching for a tree large enough to support his weight. While he could easily last another three days and nights without sleep, he also knew that it was imperative to sleep when he could. If he forced himself to march through the night in order to reach the next town, he might run into a major fight.

Yes…it would be smart to take the moment and rest while he could. Traveling was something he could do virtually all the time in this world, while sleep would be a very rare occurrence.

It didn't take the Spartan very long to spot a tree of considerable height, holding branches thick enough to support him. While climbing the tree to see if it could really hold him and his weight, he kept a close eye on the telepathic dragon. It was very rare for such a being to have been evolved naturally…there was no such thing as telepathic. The only beings he knew of that were capable of speaking with their minds were…not here.

Not here and not anywhere.

The black reptile was an enigma he truly hoped had nothing to do with the incredible alien activity that the UNSC had been encountering lately. The Halos, the Ark and the Forerunners. Everything in the galaxy seemed to have been caused by the once-great civilization of the ancient aliens. But this world was ruled by humans, not by aliens. There had to be a simple explanation for all of this; a wicked rebel leader augmenting several civilians with some new drug. That had to be it. The dragon was simply a rare, native animal that had evolved to levels on-par with humans. It was intelligent and telepathic, but nothing else.

And as he watched it hungrily devour the snake that was easily as long as its own body, he felt a strange longing. A longing to be back in the world he knew…to be back in the fight, shooting aliens and Insurrectionists. He didn't belong in the world of civilians and he knew it.

It would only be a matter of time before the UNSC would pull him out and when they did, he could put all of this behind him.

His head still ached from the experience that the small creature had caused, but he didn't hold it accountable. It might be intelligent enough to understand his most basic orders, but that was it. It couldn't think like humans did. That was simply not possible.

He finally found a branch that was sturdy enough to support him and he carefully positioned his body on top of it, holding his breath as the wooden appendage groaned under the stress.

He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, carefully expanding the boundaries of his mind to find that of the dragon. This whole telepathy thing was still very hard to grasp and only because of the strange contact that the black animal had sought could he track its consciousness.

He understood that the reptile had done something strange with his mind. He had never before possessed the ability to search for something's mind, but because of the brief yet intense physical contact, it was almost as if the dragon's mind was welded to his own. Because of that intimate contact, he was able to directly communicate with the dragon by means of his own thoughts. He could order it to follow him and stay low, amongst others. In turn, the black creature could let him know that it was hungry, scared or feeling other emotions.

The Spartan briefly wondered what else he could do with the dragon, before focusing on the task at hand. '_Sleep,'_ He told the creature, '_Tree.'_

The dragon finished lapping up the blood from the fresh kill and lazily stared up at him, again holding an amused expression on its face.

He sighed with frustration. It was almost as if he had been forced to babysit some annoying VIP in the middle of a warzone. This thing had better turn out to be useful in the coming weeks.

The dragon growled softly and flicked its wings in annoyance. He realized that he might have let a sense of frustration slip from his usually impervious mental shield and vowed to keep an even tighter control over his mind. After all, he might possibly drive the creature mad with the things he had seen and done. The only person that could withstand the thoughts of the brutal combat he had seen was a Spartan. And seeing as this dragon was a dumb animal and not a biologically-altered super-soldier, he would much rather shield his thoughts than share them.

'_Now,'_ He then added to his line of communication, still holding his eyes closed. He felt a new sensation pressing itself against his mind, like a feather brushing his bare skin. It felt more subtle than the previous emotions that the dragon had sent him…and it made him loath to let it enter his head.

But after the dragon increased its attempts of pressing the featherlike experience against his mind, he gave in and allowed it to enter his mind.

An image appeared in his head. It was an image of him, with the black dragon curled around his right forearm. A subtle emotion followed its wake. _Curiosity_.

Why was the dragon curious about an image that it had sent him itself? And why that particular one? What was this thing playing at?

'_Later,'_ He told it and started to feel impatient. '_Tree. Now.'_

The addition of that last word made all the difference; the pitch-black dragon growled softly and spread its silvery wings, rapidly beating them in order to lift itself up in the air. The Spartan had to give it to the reptile; it was a fast learner. Only three hours out of its egg and already flying. He had learned of mother-birds throwing baby-birds out of their nests back on earth, so that the babies would learn how to fly. If the dragon was already capable of flying at such a young age, combined with communicating via emotions and images, he could try to teach it some other things. He had no idea how far he would need to go or when he would find Captain Wren again; it might take two days or it might take two weeks. And he had to protect the valuable creature every waking second.

He might as well make it worth his while. He could train the dragon to gather intelligence; fly out in the open, spot possible targets and then relay the image of the targets directly back to him.

It would be an interesting tactic for sure. The creature was loyal to him alright; he didn't need to force it to stay with him and it always sought him out on its own.

A new idea welled up in his mind and he remembered that certain species would only bond to the very first thing they saw after birth; that creature would become its mother.

Was that why the dragon cared for him like that? Because it thought that he was its mother? How ridiculous; he didn't give a damn about the foolish animal. He was stuck with it alright, but in no way did that mean he would actually have to feel for it.

The dragon reached the branch below him and then clawed its way up to his current position, a small ring of smoke trailing its nostrils as it exerted itself trying to get to him.

He lowered his hand, allowed the dragon to claw at it and then pulled it up. Even though the small creature was annoying and slowing him down, he still didn't want it to be harassed by the predators of the night.

And as the dragon curled up on his dark chestplate to find a favorable position to sleep in, he briefly pondered the biology of the creature…what gender it was and if it could possibly breathe fire. If so, the UNSC might find a way to weaponize it.

No, the UNSC would do no such thing. It would be up to ONI to forge new weaponry.

He banished those thoughts and exhaled softly, calming himself for a quick night of sleep.

Darkness befell the Spartan and soon, he was fast asleep.

But that sleep didn't last very long. Six hours further into the night, he suddenly shot upright with his rifle in his hands. The first rays of daylight were already warming the forest, coming as an unpleasant surprise.

A sense of unease crept onto him and he carefully scanned the forest around him for any sign of trouble. There was something wrong…very wrong. He could feel it, as any Secret-Spartan could. All of them had something akin to a sixth sense when it came to sniffing out danger…and that sense was currently nagging him like an annoying mosquito.

It meant trouble.

He looked around, trying to spot his dragon. He couldn't see it anywhere and that was a bad thing.

The Spartan jumped out of the tree and landed on the ground, nearly flattening the black reptile that was waiting for him at the base of the tree.

"Watch it!" He snapped at the unfortunate creature and readied his rifle once again. Confusion emanated from the dragon and he understood that it wanted to know why he had suddenly jumped into action like that.

Not that he would explain why he had done so.

His motion tracker didn't indicate anything abnormal; it was completely clear. And that meant trouble too.

It was just too quiet; too calm. There had to be at least two dozen animals in the vicinity of his tree, yet he didn't hear a single bird. There wasn't anything around him…something had scared the animals away.

"We got trouble," He told the dragon and slowly marched deeper into the forest, continuously aiming his rifle at any place where he thought he might have spotted movement. There was something in the forest with him…something near. It was hiding, he knew that. His motion tracker would have given it away if it had moved.

The thought of the red-haired hostiles slipped into his mind and he remembered how inhuman those things had been. The news of him raiding the capital city had quite relatively fast…and he had been on foot the whole time. There was a small possibility that someone had been tracking him and the only person capable of doing so was the other red-haired female

The Spartan made his way through the forest for another ten tense minutes, constantly keeping a close eye on his environment and constantly aware of the nagging feeling at the back of his mind.

When the eleventh minute passed by, he started to ease up. A few birds had started to sing their loud songs and his dragon –who had been awfully quiet for a while- immediately rose up in the air and started to pursue them.

He had learned long ago that animals were sensitive to changes in their surroundings. By making use of local resources, he could determine the things that machines could not. He didn't relax just yet, but he understood that whatever had been around had left again.

The dragon sailed over his head and narrowly managed to avoid a tree. The reptile was obviously a baby; its entire demeanor screamed childish at him. But at the same time he could see how all of its actions were aimed at development and growth; it was hunting, flying and moving all the while it communicated with him on a human level of intelligence.

Now that he thought about it, the dragon was actually a pretty efficient being. It had only just been born and yet it was still smart enough to communicate with him on a mental basis and understand how to fly.

That was probably the reason why the egg had been a national treasure: the capabilities of the dragon. The UNSC could learn a lot from the reptile, even though they had less need for military advantages at the moment. The official story was that the war was over, but tensions were high and the stakes were even higher. One wrong move from either the Sangheili or Human groups and both races would descent into warfare again.

He was there to make sure that the war would be won before it started…well, he _had_ been there. Now he stuck on some backwater planet with a telepathic dragon.

The Spartan became aware of a dry aching in the back of his throat, indicating that he was thirsty. There was a small, streaming river roughly a dozen meters ahead. The smart thing would be to go there and refill his water supply. His MJOLNIR had a built-in water filtration unit, good for a total of 500 liters of water. When times were lean, he could drink from the most polluted bodies of water without getting poisoned. He could insert a canister of fluids, which would be fed to his helmet where he might consume the water if needed.

However, the river ahead of him wasn't that dirty. It was clean, streaming water where plenty of moss grew. It was clean enough to drink without wasting the filtration potential of his suit –he only had one of those installed and once it was full, it would be useless. He had plenty of time to go and drink polluted water, but he knew when to make use of local resources should they present themselves.

He took the empty canister and held it in the river, careful as to not delve too deeply into the lower layers, where there was a higher chance at diseased water.

Once it was full, he reintegrated it with his armour by inserting it in its slot.

Enough water to last for another three days.

The Spartan then allowed the dragon to drink its fill too, taking notice of its size. It had visibly grown since it had hatched –not by much, no more than an inch- but it was still visible to him.

'_Is that why it's always hungry?'_ He thought, '_Because it grows continuously?'_

The dragon finished drinking from the river and turned around to face him, looking at him with eyes that held more intelligence than before.

He shook his head, knowing that he lacked the information he so desperately needed. He needed someone to explain some things to him…and that someone was going to be in the next city. But first he would have to make it out of the seemingly never-ending forest.

The Spartan spent an entire day making his way through the first part of the far-stretched forest, moving up and down hills and on one occasion, descending a sheer stone cliff. The area was littered with steep hills and cliffs like the one he had traveled down. It reminded him of an image he had once seen of a place back on Reach: a large, mountainous area filled with all kinds of forests and bodies of water. It had been a perfect place for soldiers learning how to survive in areas they could hike in, like mountains and cliffs.

When the sun started to set, the wandering soldier slid down a considerable slope, holding himself upright by keeping his left gauntlet dug deep into the humid layer of leaves and earth. In doing so, he prevented himself from slipping and falling, although it wouldn't really harm him if he did.

At the bottom of the forested hillside ran a big river, easily reaching ten meters in width. He knew that he was still heading in the right direction, but his dragon was starting to doubt his operation. It wanted to know when they were going to rest again. It seemed to have had considerable trouble falling asleep when attached to his suit –and he couldn't expect the creature to keep up with him like that.

So the Spartan decided that they were going to spend the night near the river, allowing the dragon to refresh itself and catch some shut-eye.

He had arrived in the land of Alagaesia somewhere in the early afternoon of what he had labeled day One, during which he had stolen the egg and escaped the capital city. Then, he had spent eight hours traveling to a forest, where the egg had hatched. Three more hours of traveling then six hours of sleep had been enough to get through the first night. After sleeping through the first night, he had spent another day, day Two, making his way into what had to be the largest forest of the continent. But he was getting close now.

While the dragon hunted down the riverbank for anything edible, the Spartan utilized his combat knife and a piece of flint he had found after some digging to set fire to a bundle of dry twigs and cotton. Rudimentary survival skills had been taught to each individual Secret-Spartan, in case one of their missions required them to spend several days or weeks alone, cut off from the UNSC.

The collection of dry and flammable materials easily caught fire and he hastily placed several larger pieces of wood on top of the resulting flame, laying the foundation for a proper bonfire.

'_Food?'_ He asked the dragon.

It showed him an image of a small crab, which he accepted in silence. Even though it had only been two days and nights without food, he still felt like he should be hunting something. If he were to run into major resistance on his way to the next city, he would be in a severe disadvantage if he fought without nutrients in his bodies. He had one two nutrient bars with him, but he wanted to save them for when the need was the highest.

Once the fire was big enough, he took several sips of the water he had gathered and then told the dragon to stay put near the fire. He wanted to examine it closer, but now that she sun was officially disappearing behind the hills, he would have to use the light that the bonfire emanated to see the dragon as it was. He could see well enough in the dark, but colours were generally absent in the night and he wanted to see what the reptile looked like without that side-effects.

While he had been tending to the fire, his companion had apparently caught and devoured a relatively large bird, judging by the scattered feathers and patches of blood.

For such a small thing, it seemed to eat quite a lot of food. He knew that certain animals could grow to three times their size in just one week, but whether this thing did the same thing or not remained to be seen.

The Spartan tried to sleep through the night in relative peace, but he kept shooting upright, adrenaline and other hormones soaring through his body, each and every time the dragon made a strange noise. He was a very light sleeper; not much was needed to rouse him from his sleep and he was ready for combat the very moment he had woken up. But the dragon never seemed to notice his troubles, as it continued rolling about and kicking with its limbs.

And it snored. Every few minute, it uttered some strange, loud growl that went paired with a circle of smoke exiting its nostrils.

The fifth time that happened, the soldier shook his head and covered the dragon in a bundle of leaves, hoping that might be enough to shut it up without him actually telling it to.

Once he had done so, however, the dragon remained silent and he was finally able to sleep.

The night went by relatively fast and the subsequent day, day Three, went by even faster, with the Spartan and the dragon crossing the remaining parts if the forest and then reaching the outskirts of the city called Petrovya.

By his estimation, it should be five o'clock in the afternoon; most of the men and women in town should be up and about, doing things like cooking, smiting and building.

But for some reason, the Spartan didn't see that. What he did see from his prone position on top of a large rock outcropping however, were multiple groups of people arming themselves with swords, spears and other bladed weapons. From what he could see, they were preparing for a fight.

A rather big one.

His dragon slowly crawled towards him, dragging its scaled underbelly over the steep stone. It had grown exponentially since it had hatched; while it hadn't been much longer than his forearm at the start, it had grown to be longer than a full meter in just a few days.

That was an average of ten centimeter per day. And he was very sure that the growth had been minor after the first day. So this thing truly did grow exponentially. That meant it would gain another meter in three days…and then three.

So after two weeks, it could well be longer than a Covenant Seraph fighter. The only problem was that he didn't know just how large these things could get. It might stop at four meters, it might stop at twenty. And the larger it became, the harder it would be to keep inconspicuous.

The Spartan looked to his left, where some very big mountain-ranges were sticking up at the horizon. But in order to get to those large spires, known as the Beor Mountains, he needed to cross a vast, desolate plain that seemed to stretch on indefinitely. His MJOLNIR would protect him from the glaring sun, as would it protect him from the high temperatures. He also had enough water to last a few days and he should be able to keep moving long enough to reach the mountains, where he could find dinner. The distance couldn't be much larger than the one he had covered between Uru' baen and Furnost, but the distance through what had to be a desert didn't matter much.

No, the problem didn't lie with him. It lay with the dragon. He didn't have enough water for the black lizard and if it would surely take him another day or two to actually reach the first mountain –or a day and a night, considering his speed and plans. No, the dragon wouldn't survive the journey to the mountain-range.

He needed to reconsider his plans. The creature was an asset; it was intelligent, important and biologically impossible. It was-

The Spartan felt the consciousness of the dragon brush against his mind once again and sighed.

It was hungry again.

'_Wait,'_ He told it with his mind and then continued observing the city. It took the people at least thirty minutes to get properly armed and prepared for some conflict and he watched them all the while, learning everything he could about the city. He saw a large caravan being formed at its south entrance, while a few soldiers rushed to man the walls.

The Spartan was currently positioned roughly three dozen meters to the north of the city, observing it from a decent vantage point. He needed to go to the east, which had to be situated to his left. He if were to start traveling immediately, he would only have to endure two hours of scorching heat in the desert before it grew cold. But that cold would also be too much for his dragon to bear, so he was really out of options there. He estimated the distance between the distanced mountains and the city to be a good eighty kilometers…if he marched at a speed of ten kilometers per hour, he would reach the mountains in eight.

If he ran with a speed of thirty kilometers per hour, he could reach the mountains in three. He had enough water for himself…but his dragon really needed its sustenance. Its raving hunger had only increased; during the day it had taken them to travel to the city in front of them, the ever-growing reptile had slain and devoured at least half a dozen birds, four snakes and a half the carcass of a freshly-slain wolf. If he coupled that to the copious amounts of water that it consumed, he had a serious problem.

It needed to eat something substantial every thirty minutes and he would be traveling through a chilling desert for at least three hours. And if the sand bogged him down, it would be more than three hours.

He sighed, trying to find a way to deal with the problem. His dragon was a meter long, thirty centimeters high and capable of at least twenty minutes of flight. Yet it ate more than a full squad of battle-hardened ODST's ate and it consumed enough water for him to buy it a swimming pool as a cup.

Where did it leave all that food? It wasn't growing fat or lazy, on the contrary: it was growing larger, more lean and more active. Was it some alien life-cycle? That it reached maturity within two weeks?

That would be a sight to behold. Captain Wren and his troopers –for all their worth in the fight- weren't more important than this being. It seemed to defy the laws of nature by simply existing and the more he hung around with it, the more he became convinced that there was something off with it. Birds were capable of sustained flight because of their hollow bone-structure, wings and feathers. Bats were similar.

This being didn't seem to work like that. It had a dark, batlike membrane on its wings but it didn't feel too light. For all intents and purposes, it shouldn't be capable of flight.

And that was not even considering the occasional flutter of smoke that circled around its nose. This creature had specifically evolved to be similar to a dragon…and humans weren't capable of that. Neither were aliens.

So the question was…what was it? A flaw of nature? A failed experiment?

The dragon stared at the Spartan while the latter mused what to do, looking confused and uncertain at what to do. Eventually, the super-soldier slowly crept backwards and slid down the rock.

"You understand me?" He asked the animal.

It cocked its head sideways and looked at him, confusion radiating off of it.

"Nod if you do."

The dragon slowly whipped its head up and down, much to the Spartan's satisfaction.

"Our target lies behind the mountains to the left," He started explaining. The reptile turned to face the east while he talked to it, showing a remarkable intelligence once again. "However, there is a desert in our way. We can tonight, or tomorrow."

He didn't mention the third option to the creature; the option that prolonged their stay around the town and created new possibilities. But almost as soon as he thought of keeping that information withheld, the dragon crept closer to him and opened its maw, revealing an impressive range of teeth.

Then, it showed him an image of the forest where they had just come from, a sense of ease accompanying it. The creature obviously liked the forest better than the desert –and he could imagine why.

He shook his head to show that he wouldn't listen to its advice though, even as the doubts were beginning to settle. He had only been traveling for three days by now and the dragon was obviously in a stage where it needed continuous sustenance. If he were to cut that cycle of growth, he might damage the creature somehow. It was useful to the UNSC, as it had a unique biology and intelligence. As such, the highest priority would be the creature's safety. Not Wren's safety, not his own, but the creature's.

The Spartan looked at the city again, thinking about the third option that was becoming increasingly more viable. If he rushed things like he had been doing ever since the animal had been born, it might get hurt. It was only a juvenile animal and crossing a desert was a little bit more than it could take. The smartest thing to do was also the most frustrating thing to do, as he was generally very bad at doing that.

The smartest thing to do was waiting for the dragon to stop growing so explosively, before heading out to the desert. He had a large number of arguments against choosing that option…and an equally large number of arguments for choosing that option.

He had haste. He wanted to find Wren and the UNSC as soon as possible, to get back to the fight ASAP. The longer he waited around, the higher chances he would have at being found out by the enemy, as he was still in their empire. And there was no telling when the dragon would be done with growing; it could take months.

On the other hand…there was no clear war going on in the UNSC anymore. Rebel activity had decreased, the Covenant was busy with their civil wars and he had been sent to recover Math-011, not to partake on some urgent and very critical operation. Also, they had been sent to this planet by the Forerunners for a reason. There might be something very important hidden on the surface of Alagaesia and if he took off too soon, he wouldn't find it. And he had already found something of great importance and that something could become very useful in the future.

The dragon really was the most important thing at the moment. Its well-being was his top-priority and he needed to be sure of his position before making any decisions. Besides; the city below him was well-stocked and well-populated. If he hung around for an additional day or three before setting out, it wouldn't hurt anyone.

"What now?" He asked it after a few more minutes of silence. "Wait or move?"

The dragon emanated a sense of patience, clearly indicating that it wanted to wait.

Damn.

He sighed and clenched his fists. It had already been three days without UNSC contact…the prospect of waiting another three was a very frustrating one. He hated having to sit and wait but…he might as well make something useful out of it.

There were plenty of things to learn though. If he made a plan on how to deal with the coming days, he might even prepare himself for a meeting with the so-called Varden, the rebels in this country.

He spent the rest of the evening alternating between observing the surrounding areas, getting to know his environment and sneaking up behind groups of scouting soldiers to overhear their conversations.

By the time night had fallen, the Spartan had learned plenty of interesting things from his trips around the city. Apparently, this city was a front for the rebel group of the Varden, where supplies were smuggled over the border into a country named "Surda". It seemed that Surda was still independent from the Empire, even though the king was probably preparing to wage war on them too. And while the guards he had overheard had spoken about the Varden being located somewhere in the Beor Mountains, none of them had actually expressed knowledge about the mysterious organization's whereabouts.

He made his way back to the edge of the forest, where he had ordered the dragon to stay in a tree and wait for him to return. It was slowly becoming increasingly difficult to impose his will onto the small reptile, as it desperately wanted to follow him everywhere he went. It truly was as if the creature saw him like a maternal figure.

As the Spartan started collecting branches and leaves for a small, simple cover for the night, the dragon once again attempted to get intimate with him. No matter how many times he told the creature to back off and leave him alone, it continued to bother him for attention. Why didn't it realize that it was only an asset to him? That its importance was purely based on its body and nothing else?

Once he was certain that his wooden construction would obscure his already well camouflaged armour, he wiped away the many feathers that the dragon had gathered in its hunting and told it to lay low, for everyone could hear its squealing and growling.

The mere idea of having to wait a few days before moving was enough to seriously aggravate him and he felt a rising sense of impatience slowly forcing its way into the pit of his stomach. He hated having to sit still and these days would be very long and very annoying.

The dragon flashed him an image of its latest kill; a large weasel. For a reptile that had only hatched a few days ago, it was turning into a considerable hunter.

The Spartan ignored its message however and took a few mouthfuls of his water. It didn't taste bad, but for river water found in an unpolluted area, it sure did taste off.

Whatever. Spartans didn't get sick. Not often.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but he couldn't help thinking about all the strange things he had heard. Barring elves and dwarfs and magic, as those could only be the result of indoctrination and rumors, he wanted to know why this Varden actually wanted to fight the Empire. From what he had seen, the king wasn't actually a bad king. H had made the mistake of attacking the USNC, but apart from that he hadn't seen a single thing that could have indicated that this…Galbatorix…was a dictator. No slavery, no slums, a well-trained army there to uphold the law.

The Spartan didn't trust the Varden, really. He had encountered enough twisted minds in the Insurrectionists to understand that not every cause was just. If the situation was just like his own…the Varden should be his enemies, not the empire.

The sole reason why he sought the Varden out was to gain information on the whereabouts of Captain Wren and his marines. After that, it would be repairing the Communications disk at the _When Duty Ends_ and calling for a towing ship.

This world didn't hold anything for him…except for the little dragon.

After ten minutes of musing, the Spartan decided to simply go to sleep and make things up as he went along.

The three following days were long, troublesome and frustrating. His hunger only grew and he felt the desire to find and kill something, but he couldn't indulge in such simple-minded actions, as he had no hostiles anywhere. What he did have, at the end of his sixth day in Alagaesia, was new information on the nature of the city and the empire and a new plan.

The Spartan had heard a group of soldiers conversing with each other, talking about some very interesting topics. Apparently, the empire was searching for a new rider. A dragon's egg had hatched, bonded to a young farmer's kid and caused a whole lot of ruckus.

The soldiers hadn't mentioned how long ago that had been, but they had spoken about an informant in a city called Gil'ead and how this Rider and his dragon had rescued some important person from a prison.

He didn't care for the plight of some stupid child, but what he did care for was the knowledge of a person called a 'rider'. These soldiers seemed to think that a person whom a dragon hatched for was important somehow. Thankfully, they hadn't heard of a second dragon hatching, otherwise they would have been searching the surrounding areas for him. From what those people spoke about, it seemed that the King was all too eager to state that someone had attacked the Capital city, but not that someone had actually robbed it.

Propaganda in all its glory. But it had served its purpose, fur he now knew just how important this dragon really was to this country. Both the empire as the rebels depended on the new Rider and his dragon to help tip the fight to their favor. And judging by the urgent way those guards spoke, the kid hadn't made up his mind yet concerning whom he wanted to join.

And seeing as the empire was _his_ enemy, he would have to kill the boy and his dragon if they decided to join Galbatorix.

But the hatching of that dragon had to have been more than three months ago…meaning that it could be the size of a Pelican dropship by now.

His own dragon had continued to feast on all living things in the area and it had also continued to grow at an astonishing rate. At the end of his sixth day on this planet, the dragon's shoulders had reached his elbows. That was more than three feet high. Its body ranged a full ten feet from the tip of its snout to the end of its tail and its wings easily spanned twenty feet when unfolded.

The Spartan was pleased to see that it had grown to be a ferocious animal, too. Its teeth were like daggers and its talons were strong and sharp enough to kill a wolf in one fell swipe. The dragon no longer screeched or squealed as its voice had grown to be deeper, more rumbling.

'_Hungry?'_ He asked it with his mind. The end of his third day of waiting had come and he was very eager to leave the informational city of Petrovya behind and head out towards the Beor Mountains. The problem was that he had no clue as to where to find this 'Varden' he had been hearing increasing amounts of information over and even the smugglers that claimed to bring supplies into Surda never spoke about their true whereabouts.

So when he would be hiking across the mountains, he would have to move slower to avoid missing any and all indications as to where the rebel organization was hiding.

The dragon growled in agreement. In just six days, its telepathic abilities had increased to the point where it could communicate with him by sending images, smells and even feelings to him. It annoyed him greatly that the dragon had access to his mind to such a degree, although he was also grateful that it wasn't able to read his mind or memories.

And still he didn't know if it was a girl or not. He had a stronger sense of womanhood with the dragon than malehood, but still. He wasn't sure.

They were currently situated near the edge of the forest, roughly a kilometer north-west of the city. The mountains were to his east and he planned to go there that very night. The sun was setting again and he knew that his dragon would be capable enough to withstand the freezing cold of a desert biome.

He downed another few gulps of his water and thought about using one of the nutrient bars. It had been six days since he had eaten something and he did not want to encounter anything unhuman on an empty stomach.

A lone wolf howled in the night and his dragon immediately let him know that it was thrilled and that it wanted to hunt.

"Thirty minutes," He ordered the reptile and then resumed watching the desert-plain between him and the peaks. If the dragon ate its full one final time before they embarked, he wouldn't encounter much trouble during their journey.

While he waited for the reptile to return, he popped one of the nutrient bars and took another sip of the water he had gathered. Even though he had used it sparsely, it was almost gone. He was thankful though; the water had a weird taste to it and the sooner he could find a new supply of water, the better it would be.

Then his left side erupted in pain and he spun around with his rifle at the ready, prepared to shoot and kill anything that could have snuck up on him.

There was nothing. His motion tracker indicated nothing in close proximity and his shields hadn't been damaged in the slightest. Nothing had happened…and yet his ribs were burning and itching as if something had mauled him with a series of knives.

Then the Spartan heard screaming and growling in the distance and exploded into movement. Pain was nothing but a nuisance to him; he had long ago learned how to banish out all forms of discomfort with a near hundred percent effectiveness. But he knew that the hurt had no origin on his own body; he was mentally linked to the dragon that much he knew. Whatever had caused a sudden bout of pain in his body would have also caused his ally to feel that and judging by the violent fighting sounds in the forest, it had gotten to it at the worst possible timing

The armoured soldier sprinted through the dense foliage, crushing thorny bushes and smaller trees as if they were rotten twigs. It took him no more than a minute to reach the place where he had located his dragon, but as the Spartan knew, one minute too late might as well be an hour too late when it came to reinforcing someone.

He jumped over a fallen tree and stumbled upon a small clearing, where the black dragon was busy fighting off three wolves at once. Two of them were wounded, but the third one was not and that was the one who was the most active in harming his companion.

Its scales hadn't been breached, but not for a lack of trying. Long scratches ran down the dragon's side and even though he didn't see any blood, he still understood that the creature must be hurting.

He ignored the faint throbbing in his own side and got to work. He flung his combat knife at the wolf that was just about to flank the dragon and hit it in its side, knocking it off balance and sending it falling to the ground.

The Spartan had never stopped moving since entering the small clearing and by the time the wolves knew that he was there, he was already upon them.

The fallen canine barely had time to register the heavily armoured soldier that had appeared near their prey, before a gauntlet shot out and punched it in its skull, killing it instantly

With the lead wolf killed, the two remaining wolves had a harder time attacking the dragon and the black creature retaliated with savage fury, flinging itself at the nearest predator and burying its dagger-like talons deep into its flanks./

While his dragon was killing the second wolf, the Spartan turned to look at the remaining canine. But the wolf was smarter than its unfortunate allies and it turned around to run away, oozing blood from a dragon-inflected wound all the while.

He witnessed the black reptile ripping into its kill and he reached out to retrieve his blade. It was amusing to see how the scales of his dragon almost seemed to match the colour of his blade. However, the animal's scaled hide shone brightly whenever a source of light was around to illuminate it, while the stainless steel of the combat knife was nonreflective.

"Status report," He asked the creature.

In return, the Spartan received a garbled message consisting of visions, smells and emotions concerning the dragon's rage and indignity.

He shook his head and sat down near a log, looking at the savage bodies of the slain wolves. They didn't look like the kind of animals that would attack a dragon head-on. And he had only heard one of the canines howling into the night…had he made a mistake? Or had his dragon made a mistake?

Deciding that it wasn't important, the Spartan allowed the reptile to eat its fill for exactly fifteen minutes –as fifteen minutes had already passed since it had gone out hunting. He had promised it thirty minutes of time and no more.

Luckily, the creature seemed to have grasped his concept of time without too much trouble. Just when he was about to grab the dragon by its neck and tear it away from its prey, the creature raised its head and turned around, blood dripping from its maw.

"We're leaving," He told the animal.

_Excitement,_ the dragon let him feel. It had better be excited about moving, he had been forced to wait three days before the thing was strong enough to travel and he didn't want to waste one additional minute in doing so.

With the dragon in tow, The Spartan made his way back to the edge of the forest, where he had a good overview of the plains leading to the base of the mountains. His companion had eaten its full and now they could finally travel further.

It was a curious thing how the reptile had managed to make him feel exactly the same thing it had endured during its fight. Was that also a part of this mental link they were supposed to be having? If so, he wanted it gone. He couldn't have a creature hurting him by simply getting hurt itself. It would only disorient him during battles and distract him from his mission.

He couldn't have that. As soon as he had rejoined with his people, he would find a way to sever that link between him and the black dragon.

But for now, it had served its purpose. He had understood that his ally was in trouble and he had acted accordingly. Now to find the Varden…and information.

Together with his black-scaled appendage, he worked his way towards the desolate plains of the desert. Night had fallen by then, allowing them to move in the darkness without being spotted. The sand was treacherous and dangerous and more times than not he almost misplaced his legs, forcing him to move more carefully than he had wanted to. The dragon didn't have that problem as it was capable of flight, but even that advantage didn't last long. Soon, the desert-winds became too strong for the creature to keep itself afloat without risking itself.

Because of the nature of their travels, he didn't want to be seen by anyone but the occasional serpent hiding underneath the sand. As such, he couldn't allow the dragon to fly too high or too far away. While he marched across the sand with a tempo that was twice as high as that of the average soldier, he became aware of a throbbing presence near the back of his mind.

Recognizing it as the consciousness of his dragon, he allowed the sensation to enter his thoughts and a new vision flashed before his eyes. He saw a column of fifty individuals marching across a dark, sandy dune. The surrounding area looked familiar to his own…very familiar.

He eyed his motion tracker and didn't see anything. Strange. Perhaps it was the howling wind that blew sand virtually everywhere? It might be enough to hide the tracks of those people, as the scanner could get confused at times. The distance might also be a problem.

He frowned when he noticed something off. Those figures didn't really look…normal. Their bodies were disproportional to that of a human. It could be a distortion of the air, as his dragon had been flying when it relayed that image, but he still couldn't risk it.

The Spartan ordered his dragon to retreat and then checked his motion scanner again. The wind had died down enough for him to see clearly in front of him and he recognized a dune that he had also seen when the dragon contacted him.

He spent a minute or two trying to climb up the large collection of sand and crouched low when he spotted the convoy, moving approximately twenty meters ahead of them. They had a relatively high speed in their marching…and relatively large bodies for something so humanoid.

He hit the zooming function on his HUD and slowly aimed his rifle at the group of hostiles. These things weren't humans, that much was obvious. All of them had large, curling horns protruding from their skulls and they carried large, mean-looking weapons. Their skin almost looked grey from that distance…but it could have also been because of the night, the wind and the sand.

He didn't want to waste munitions on them, but he also didn't want to circle around them and leave such a large number of obviously hostiles on his six.

But he also didn't know if they were really hostile…unless they had been the reason for the smuggler-town of Petrovya to garrison their men.

His dragon stared at him with its intelligent, yellow eyes. Almost as if it asked him what to do next.

What would he do?

* * *

"_The grey abomination is proving to be a harder prey than I have expected, my lady. I do think I have poisoned him, but he keeps marching on with the speed of a Kull. If he does not succumb soon, I will have no choice but to ambush him near the Mountains."_

"_Do not try at failing me, Raia. The consequences will be less pleasant than what the abomination did to your neck."_

"_It will be done my lady."_

\- Conversation between "Shade" designated 'Raia' and unnamed individual, 6 days after UNSC asset SS-007 contact with Uru'baen.


	4. Secret-Spartan pt I

"_The Augmentation procedure for subject Seven is finally over. The entire process took more than two day…but now he is fully ready for combat. We shall retrieve Halsey's MJOLNIR and outfit him, too."_

\- Unknown Section Seven scientist, march 18, 2542

* * *

The Spartan crept forwards silently, carefully placing his feet on the feeble hills of sand as to not cause a sudden shift in their structures. One misplaced step in his current area could create an avalanche of sand, allowing the creatures he was stalking to find out that he was there.

He had been following the convoy of fifty-plus contacts for more than twenty minutes at that point, moving at a slower pace than he would have liked, but still faster than a squad of ODST's could march. The creatures that he was stalking were not human, that much he knew.

They had grey skin, large and prominent horns and really bad placement of body-armour. Some individuals in their ranks stood taller than eight feet, making them as large –if not larger- than a brute. Even though they were obviously nonhuman, they could still be some aboriginal subspecies of native human presence. As such, he couldn't simply murder them all.

The Spartan finally reached the top of a particularly high dune and lowered his body, staying hidden from the walking monstrosities as well as keeping a close eye on them. His dragon was nowhere near his levels of stealth and had to work a lot harder to remain hidden from the group of humanoids.

Speaking of which, where was the not-so-small reptile now? He hadn't seen it since he had started the stalking.

He looked to his right and instantly felt a fit of annoyance creeping up on him. The grey-skinned creatures were moving towards the outlines of the Beor Mountains, where the Varden was supposed to be positioned. On their right flank lay a series of smaller, more unstable sandbanks. The only thing that had to happen for the group to completely oversee that flank was for one of them to turn their heads a bit to the right.

And his dragon was currently positioned on top of said sandbank, overlooking those creatures from what was very obviously NOT a good position for cover. Why was it stupid?

And as if it was meant to be, one of those creatures just happened to look to its right at the very moment that the Spartan tried to contact the dragon with his mind.

'_Get out of there!'_ He told the animal and leaped over his own dune, landing on the sandy plains a good ten meters away from the convoy of monsters –behind them, not at their sides like the dragon.

One of the horned humanoids bellowed loudly and pointed at the dragon with a thick finger, a war-axe brandished in its other hand.

The dragon roared in defiance and attempted to take off and fly to safety, but the sand was too unstable and the entire sandbank collapsed when it did, sending the black beast plummeting towards the ground.

One of the largest creatures stepped forwards and growled at the reptile, lowering its head and bringing its large horns to bear. One of its hands reached for an oversized knife and the dragon hissed at the humanoid creature in return, preparing to pounce at its eight-foot-tall mass in retaliation.

But the Spartan hadn't been sitting still either. As soon as the horned abomination had shown open hostility to the reptile, the super-soldier had leaped into action.

Half a ton of armour and human rammed into the grey, musclebound creature, sending it crashing to the ground after it flew through the air for two meters.

Normally in its life, after having received such a blow, the horned humanoid would get enough respite to crawl back to his feet and rejoin the fight. It was large and heavy enough to withstand the most powerful of blows.

But this time, it received no such respite. No sooner had its grey bulk hit the sandy plans or the Spartan had jumped after it, killing it by jamming a large knife into its neck with such ferocity that he nearly tore its head clean off.

'_Take cover,'_ He told the dragon as he rose to his feet, facing the group of forty-nine remaining hostiles. They were all reaching for their weapons, growling and communicating with each other while doing so.

Zero-zero-seven felt a warm, fuzzy feeling as a large quantity of chemicals and hormones spread itself throughout his body once more. His stomach itched and his hands started to quiver ever so slightly. An uncontrollable desire to kill burned through his mind, nearly destroying his rationality for the coming fight.

The itch in his stomach worsened, spreading to his legs and chest. The speed with which he breathed increased and his heart worked overtime to compensate for the explosion of activity in his body.

For a split-second, his eyes glazed over. Then his vision returned with much greater clarity than before, almost as if it was mimicking the effects that his brain underwent.

His mind alternated between slipping into a red blur of rage and granting his body the ability to act even faster than normally during combat.

He recognized these symptoms briefly before the feeling of recognition disappeared, together with most of his logic-associated thought-processes. What remained was a singled-out, all-consuming desire to maim, harm and kill.

One of the targets stepped forwards and slammed a fist into its chest, producing a dull 'clunk' as the limb impacted on a small chest-plate.

"Our leader would wish to-" The irrelevant lump of flesh barked, but he never got to finish his sentence.

The Spartan flung his ten-inch stainless combat knife at the thing's head with much more force than was necessary, splitting his target's skull in half as the blade lodged into it all the way up to the hilt.

Before anything even had the chance to move after his initiation of violence, he exploded into motion and sprinted towards the group of unfortunate freaks.

The Spartan no longer possessed the ability to predict and overthink. All that remained was action and reaction; a completely instinctive process that made it possible for him to operate with maximum efficiency. He didn't anticipate incoming attacks or movements, and neither did he think of the long-term events of the fight, against the overwhelming numbers.

It made him all the deadlier for it. Metal impacted on flesh as the Spartan clashed with the group, instantly using his superior strength and speed to shatter the skulls of the first two targets he fought with. He lashed out with fists, elbows, legs and feet to crush and break anything that got near him. He brained opponents with jabs and hooks and fragmented necks with uppercuts. Shields, plates of armour and spears all shattered underneath his powerful strikes, while there wasn't a single one amongst the enemy ranks who could manage as much as scratching him.

His energy shielding was simply too efficient for his opponents to harm him. It deflected swords, axes and arrows each and every time a creature wielding such weapons managed to score a lucky strike. Even as the Spartan slowly got surrounded by the massive bodies of the grey-skinned abominations, he kept on murdering. In the red haze of the combat, he had somehow managed to retrieve his knife and was using that to great efficiency too. When he wasn't jamming the large blade into the bodies of his foes, he was busy breaking them or tearing them apart. He moved with machinelike precision while tearing through his enemies even though his mind did not force him to, as maximum efficiency was the one way to reach maximum lethality.

But even though the Spartan did not make wasteful movements, many a foe of his still found themselves missing an arm or a large chunk of their torsos, falling to the ground in a combination of pure terror and overwhelming pain as the realization dawned upon them.

But the Spartan didn't care for that. He didn't feel for that. He didn't even see it. All that he saw were limbs to be broken, necks to be slashed and heads to be crushed. On one occasion he tore off both of the horns of the head of a particularly large specimen and impaled two other hostiles with them, before breaking the spine of the hornless monstrosity and kicking him to the ground.

Another one attacked him with a sweep of an axe, but he dove underneath the sprawling limp and grabbed a hold of the elbow with his left hand, before reaching out and grabbing the beast's neck with his right. Then, he twisted his left hand and pushed his target off balance, allowing him to both crush its neck as taking its axe.

With the large weapon he slashed at two more shapes, killing them with blinding speed as the dark blade sunk deep in their bodies.

Like a grey shadow under the moon he moved, dashing over the sand with a speed that was unmatched by any living thing. He snapped necks, broke backs and crushed skulls with no regard for his own safety. His vision had completely greyed-out, allowing him to see the sharp details of his prey with lethal precision.

Soon, the Spartan's armour was completely drenched in the black blood of his targets. With every limb he severed with either knife or hand, another spurt of blood splashed on his visor.

A large figure lunged towards him, but he simply stepped forwards into the arms of the monster and slammed his elbow in its face, knocking it back. Then he pressed the attack, delivering two rapid uppercuts in succession. His enemy fell, but was replaced by two new ones.

The Spartan didn't pay any heed to their numbers and relentlessly met their attacks, allowing his armour to deflect their strikes before he countered. He jumped towards the open space between the two monstrosities and wrapped a leg around the throat of one of them, bringing him to the ground. At the same time, he slammed his combat knife deep into the throat of the other grey abomination.

While the second one fell, he wrenched at the neck of the first one and killed him too.

He immediately jumped to his feet and spun around to intercept the swing of another hostile, this time bearing a giant mace.

The head of the mace swung through the air and impacted on the ground, while he struck with the palm of his hand at the eight-foot high abomination's abdomen. The attack crushed its internal organs and the monster landed in a heap against a large dune –eight meters away.

The Spartan continued to rampage through the enemy ranks, dealing death-blows left and right and never thinking about his own safety. He did not notice the occasional but nevertheless desperate cry for attention in the back of his mind, as he simply lacked the ability to process it.

He kicked one of the hostiles in the chest, crushing its ribs and probably collapsing its entire chest cavity. While the target went sailing through the air, three more grey-skinned abominations attempted to back up and gain some distance. They were screaming and shouting at him in full terror, but he paid their wasting of breath no mind.

He killed one of them by stabbing the thing in the face, breaching its skull and penetrating its brain. The other one fell when he stepped back and spun his body sideways, slamming his hind leg right against its neck and sending it sprawling to the ground.

But as he punched his last opponent in the chest, shattering all its bones and sending their fragments right into the vulnerable heart hidden behind them, he suddenly found himself without new targets. The field was empty; nothing remained alive except for him.

He stood there with his arm raised in the air, preparing to open up a new head with his leaking knife. The ground was completely littered with bodies, gore and blood. Intestines were as common as limbs and both of them gave way underneath his boots when he moved over the terrain.

The Spartan was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. His heart was beating faster than humanly possible and his arms were violently shaking. His skin seemed to burn with a fever and drops of sweat were clinging to his forehead. Black blood dripped off of his armour and the ground in a radius of at least fifty meters was completely drenched in gore.

A black shape moved to his left and he immediately spun around to deal with it, raising his leg to deliver a curb-stomp to whatever had dared to close in on him.

A flicker of teeth and a strong message in the back of his mind made him stay his foot long enough for the new target to jump out of the way, after which he forced himself to slowly retract his leg. The presence near his head had been clear enough and throughout the black fog that lay on his senses like a thick carpet, he managed to understand that it was an ally.

Recognition of the creature flooded into his brain and he realized that the fight was over.

He took a few deep breaths and slowly reached for his head, attempting to ease the throbbing headache that had formed. Slowly he managed to regain his senses and rationality and he took a quick look around.

The area was covered with blood, gore and bodies. Dozens of weapons lay broken and scattered with the bodies –and he was standing right in the middle of it all.

He noticed that he was completely covered in blood; the same blood that had been dumped all over the ground. Standing next to him was also black, but that was a good form of black. It was what had been responsible for holding him back when he needed to be held back.

The Spartan looked down at the dragon and took notice of the smears of dark blood over its body. So it hadn't escaped the fight unscathed?

It was just sitting there, looking at him with some strange expression on its angular head. But despite of the dragon's calm demeanor, he still felt a raging torrent of emotions pressing against the back of his head. The dragon was extremely upset with something, that much was sure.

He didn't really care for its feelings though. What he did care for, was whether it was still in once piece or not. The blood sticking to the dragon was as black as the blood he had spilled that night, but that didn't neccesarily have to mean that it was unhurt.

"You alright?" He asked it.

The thing didn't respond to him, but it did hiss and step backwards the very moment he spoke to it. The reptile seemed to be…disturbed…somehow. He knew that he hadn't made the most clean kills that moment, but neither had the wolves been terminated peacefully. What had changed? Did it know these things? Had they scared it?

The Spartan decided that it wasn't really important, as long as the reptile would still follow him to the Varden. He didn't need undying loyalty or whatever; he only needed it to do what he told it.

"Move it," He ordered the dragon and wiped his knife off on the clothes of a nearby body. It was curious to see how these things could be so alien and still so human. Their bodies and even speech had all resembled an ordinary human, except for the fact that they were taller…grey-skinned...horned.

And some of them grew taller than Hunters. But those were most likely the oldest specimens. Their black blood was another strange thing though. Could it be based off of sulfur?

The dragon flashed a sense of severe distress and worry towards him, which he ignored. It shouldn't be worried, their foes were dead. He was having a monumental headache, but he could shake it off without too much trouble. Those dumb brutes had been unable to even lay a finger on him, in no small part due to his shielding.

Still, he saw fit to tell the reptile that he was unhurt. The purpose of the message was to speed it up to such a degree that they could reach the mountains within a few hours, but that proved to be a futile thought. The dragon simply refused to believe that he was unhurt, going as far as to state sheer disbelieve at his statement.

Then it walked over to one of the fallen savages and sniffed at the blood pooling out of it. Then the dragon gave a snort of disgust and quickly darted over towards him, having apparently decided that he was unhurt enough for it to join him.

He took a long look at the creature and concluded that it was completely unhurt itself. It must have jumped at his aid at one point, hence why it had been so close to him when he had finished killing those humanoids. It was brave for doing so, but also very stupid. Even though the dragon was more than ten feet long and high enough to give its enemies some nasty wounds, it wasn't invulnerable It had been wounded by a wolf some time ago and had it been careless, it could have gotten itself killed.

"Did you engage the enemy?" he asked it as he started moving, deciding that he had wasted enough time.

It confirmed his thoughts; as soon as he had attacked the first enemy, the dragon too had leapt into action. Even though the beast wasn't really the pinnacle of warfare, it had still stood its ground against the attacking humanoids…not that it had changed anything. It could have gotten itself wounded or killed and then what? It was obviously a rare and powerful species, so he couldn't let it get killed like that.

But as the Spartan and the dragon continued to march across the desolate plains, the last thing that was on the soldier's mind was the actions that his companion had taken. No, what worried him more was the throbbing headache that refused to go away even after two hours of solid marching. He knew what had happened during the fight and he knew what should happen next…but for some reason, that hadn't happened.

It wasn't the first time he had lost himself in the fight like that. It seemed to happen everytime he went through extensive isolation from the UNSC. Most of the time it would take a week or longer for those effects to show up and even when they did, he had always been able to fight them off. However, the mere fact that he had those strange bouts was a problem. He was a Spartan; discipline and an iron-will were basically what defined him. So it was more than simply worrisome that he could lose his cool like that...especially when he considered that it was completely different from the serene state that his mind usually slipped into combat.

Perhaps he shouldn't have gathered that water for drinking without completely purifying it first. It could have been contaminated with some strange chemical substance…or biological poison. This planet could sustain dragons and humanoid abominations after all, so their biological make-up could be completely different.

Yes…that had to be it. The last time he had slipped into such a black rage had been more than three months back and it had only happened after two weeks of sustained fighting on a world where Insurrectionist forces and Covenant Loyalist forces had been clashing. It hadn't ended very well…for neither of the parties.

So by all rights he should still have a week to go. Either something was advancing the occasional fits of aggression…or he was deteriorating fast.

He could not have that. He needed more control –as soon as he would reach the Mountains, he would…he would think of something.

The Spartan and dragon marched on in silence for the better part of the night, making their way past enormous dunes and wide open plains of nothingness. They encountered neither monsters nor other forms of live, the only things in the dead area of sand being them.

Occasionally, the dragon informed him that it was cold…and tired…and hungry. Always hungry.

'_Glutton…'_ He thought to himself at one point. But they had crossed a measurable distance at that point, their goal was slowly getting in their sights.

'_Curiosity', _ The dragon pointed towards his mind after another thirty minutes of silent traveling.

"Why?"

It showed the Spartan an image of his armour, covered in black goo. He replied to that by looking down at it and shaking his head, letting the reptile know that it wasn't being very communicative there.

It growled softly and lowered its head, looking somewhat disappointed.

The soldier sighed and reached for the assault rifle that he hadn't used in days. The argument of wanting to safe ammunition was slowly getting bleaker with each passing hour and he was starting to wonder just why he hadn't chosen to shoot his way out.

Sure, once his ammo was gone he would have a hard time fighting other enemies, but it wasn't as if they could touch him. Nothing could touch him in this world. Not even in the freezing surroundings of a desert in midnight did he feel uncomfortable, as his suit regulated his temperature well enough.

In a way, the thought made him feel comfortable. He could now literary do whatever it took to complete his objectives. No threats of being found out, cornered by dozens of soldiers wielding plasma weaponry or enemy air support. He was limited only by his creativity.

An army of two-hundred men couldn't stop him; the only thing that stood in his way was time.

And distance, but he was able to compensate for that with ease.

Eventually, the deserted plains ended and made way for a small plateau of rocks, which stretched on for approximately a hundred meters before ending right at the treeline of a large forest.

The Spartan quickly took in his environment and noticed how the large mountain that lay right behind the forest wasn't the only one. It seemed that the Beor Mountains existed out of a large range of peaks, with the most prominent ones being those that reached right into the clouds. He couldn't even see peaks of some mountains; they simply disappeared into the cloudy sky.

So he had reached the Beor Mountains…and now what? How was he supposed to be finding the Varden in such a large area? There could be hundreds of hidden camps and villages spread throughout the range.

"Happen to smell anything?" He asked the dragon while crossing the stone platform leading to the forest. He could visit every single place that showed motion, but that would take weeks. And he didn't want to spend weeks searching for a group, he wanted to leave this world ASAP.

As usual, the dragon did nothing useful and simply indicated that it didn't smell a damn thing. How very predictable. Why couldn't anything be simple once in a while?

He shook his head and entered the forest, thinking of several ways that he could use to get a rough estimation of where to find the Varden group. He could climb one of the mountains and use that to scout the area, but if the rebels were hidden under the trees or at the back of a different mountain, he wouldn't be finding them that way. But if he fired his weapon, something was bound to come and investigate him. And then he could lay an ambush and interrogate whoever came to search for him.

He knew that the sound of a gun could be carried on for many miles by the wind. But…he would rather not lose the element of surprise. If the Varden proved to be hostile to him…well, at that point he would have already revealed himself to them.

It wouldn't matter.

He couldn't decide what to do at the moment just yet. It was wiser to wait for the morning to come and then climb one of the mountainsides, as they were more likely to come out of hiding when the sun was up than in the night.

It was not what he would do, but then again not many people were like him.

'_Rest here,'_ He told the dragon as soon as they reached a place where a few trees had fallen over, forming a natural grove where the reptile could sleep in.

_Hunger_, the dragon let him know.

´_Hurry up,´_ He replied. The group of four dozen humanoids had been heading to the mountains for a reason; they might live there, or they might be migrating to live there. He couldn't take a risk with such creatures around –especially not with his dragon flying about trying to stuff itself.

The black animal was gone for the better part of the night, during which he constantly held his position. Three to four hours went by like that to the point that the sun slowly started to rise on the horizon, bathing the desert that lay behind him in a red and yellow cloak.

Then he heard the flapping of wings and he turned towards the origin of the sound, waiting for his companion to show itself. After half a minute of waiting, the black shape descended through the cover of the leaves, breaking a dozen branches and twigs in the process. Even though its black mass was more than three meters long, he still expected it to be able to handle that mass.

"Quiet," He told the dragon as it folded its large, bat-like wings. "You make too much noise. You want to stay with me, you learn how to be silent. Or I will leave you behind."

The dragon hissed at him indignantly, anger flooding into the Spartan's mind as he felt the extent of its emotions. It was clear to him that the reptile wasn't really amused with that sentence, but there was no other way.

"You messed up. We could have snuck past those hostiles, but you alerted them. That won't happen again."

The dragon brought its jaws together with a loud snap and a large cloud of smoke exited its nostrils. With its front legs, it started to claw at the ground in frustration.

_Unfair,_ the dragon let him know. It thought that he couldn't be disappointed with it? Then it would be in for a surprise.

"Practice," He told it and that was final.

A deep, low rumbling originating from the dragon's throat filled the air, but that disappeared as quickly as it had come.

The Spartan and the dragon spent the rest of the day in silence, making their way to the foot of the mountain and then ascending it. By the time the sun had passed its highest spot in the air, the soldier had just about reached a small platform on the side of the mountain.

The dragon had no problem with flying all the way up to his point, but the wall that the Spartan was climbing was steep and treacherous. Many times he reached for a rock, only for the rock to crumble apart or fall away. At least twice he slid a few meters back down the face of the mountain, only to recover from the fall by digging his hands and feet deep into the rocks.

Of course he remembered the basics of climbing: always keep three limbs to the wall and use your legs instead of your arms to pump your body up. But climbing more than a hundred meters of solid rock was a hard thing to do when one weighed half a ton.

The dragon constantly buzzed around him, trying to point out rocks that he could grab or paths that he could take. Even though it had been pretty mad with him, the creature still tried to help him.

Stupid thing. It should buzz off and let him climb. It might be intelligent enough to spot what he was doing, but the options it gave him were nonsensical or predictable.

After two hours of climbing since he had started, the Spartan had reached the outcropping that he had aimed for. He pulled himself on top of it and got to his feet, very careful as to not misplacing his balance.

When he used the high ground to oversee the place where he was going, he cursed under his breath and clenched his fists.

There was _exactly _the same valley lying in front of him as the one he had left. No trees, no camps and no villages. Nothing.

He had wasted half the day to get up the mountain only to realize that he was one or two valleys too early with doing so.

Damnit.

_Anger?_ The dragon asked him, flashing a sense of curiosity.

He ignored the animal and lowered his body past the outcropping, preparing to slide all the way back down again. He wasn't going to waste the rest of the day with descending the mountain.

The Spartan and the dragon kept on traveling through the Beor Mountains, spending the rest of the day to get to the foot of the next mountain. Zero-zero-seven continued the trend of letting the dragon rest through the night, but while the dragon would rest in its hideout, the soldier would then always sneak out to scout the surrounding areas. As such, he ascended the next mountain in the night between the seventh and eighth day and finally spotted a village.

But it wasn't the village he had been looking for.

What the Spartan saw was a city of strange architecture, where more than four-hundred individuals had gathered together. He spotted more than a dozen fires where the figures roasted animals and made other kinds of food, but he wasn't yet convinced that this was the group he had been looking for. There was something off…something was wrong.

He hit the magnification on his visor and zoomed in on the area. His MJOLNIR MK VI had been upgraded with quite a few options and functions when compared to the MK V version. The Master Chief had been the lucky one to first wear the suit in combat, right before the Battle of Earth. During the first weeks of combat, the remaining kinks had been worked out of the Mark Six and the Secret-Spartans were outfitted with the newest edition. Most of them had been recalled back to Earth to defend mankind's home-world against the incoming Covenant attack. And they had only known of the attack because the Master Chief had been able to hi-jack a Covenant vessel after the events on the first Halo, before intercepting a Covenant message that they were preparing a fleet to invade Sol.

He had read the report of OPERATION: FIRST STRIKE, as called by the surviving SPARTAN-II"s.

The Chief and the few other survivors of Halo had recovered some Spartans from Reach's surface, before they had jumped to the enormous Space-station that the Covenant had been using to refuel their fleet: the Unyielding Hierophant.

They had sabotaged the station and lured the fleet there, destroying more than five-hundred Covenant vessels once it overloaded.

The Chief and his team had been hailed as heroes and once they had returned to Earth, he had received the first edition of the Mark Six armour.

He remembered how Secret-Spartans and normal Spartans had been fighting together to save the Earth, but they could never have met each other. As such, there had been no fighting side by side for them. They all had their missions and assignments and the like, but the younger Spartans couldn't have joined the older ones in combat

That was because he and the others didn't exist. Nobody was supposed to find out about them…so ONI had kept them a secret even when they had been giving their everything for Earth.

A sudden change in the environment brought the Spartan back to his scouting and he took another good look at the large valley. The four-hundred figures had received reinforcement: another two groups, each spanning more than a hundred warriors, had poured into the valley through other entrances. He realized that there were those amongst the groups that stood way taller than the rest, just like the eight-foot tall humanoids he had fought in the desert. They were the same species…the grey-skinned, horned humanoids.

So these were more of the hostiles…six-hundred more. And they were amassing in the middle of the night in the Beor Mountains…for what? Had they found the bodies and decided to come and search for him?

No…it was yet too early for that. He had only killed those fifty individuals last night. Unless…their marching tempo had been very high.

Were they here for him or for the Varden? He could handle six-hundred primitively armed hostiles. But the Varden? If they were a rebel group that consisted out of humans with swords and spears…they would get massacred.

The Spartan considered his previous theory about high-ranking Insurrectionist personnel having staged all this and discarded it. It was impossible for humans to stage such a giant illusion, as he had spent more than seven days and nights on the move. He had seen cities, forests and lakes that all indicated that the entire country was so primitive.

Then he decided that the reason for this world to be so primitive lay with some calamity that had happened in the past, forcing everyone to start anew. Perhaps it had something to do with these extremely fast-growing dragons?

He could sneak down there, assassinate their groups standing guard and then eavesdrop on them. But…there was very little cover down there. They would see him before he could get the drop on them and that would mean combat…combat that the dragon could feel, as it had also responded to his aggression against the previous group.

Neither could he stay hidden halfway down the slope of the mountain, as the crumbling rocks and stones would give him away.

No…he couldn't risk eavesdropping on those things. They wouldn't even understand him; just because humans spoke English, these creatures would not automatically speak English too.

The whole language-thing only served to prove his theory. The language of the humans was equal to his own, so they couldn't have evolved on their own. They had to be descendants from UNSC forces.

And they had been attacked because the people living there were Insurrectionists. And Captain Wren had been alone in this world for more than a week now…

If he couldn't find that dropship and contact the _When Duty Ends_ soon, he might never be able to return to the UNSC.

He pushed those thoughts away and returned to his dragon. He couldn't risk a confrontation, but he needed to be very careful in moving.

He sought out the consciousness of the reptile and sent a small probe of thoughts into its mind.

'_We're moving.'_

An vague and blurry image flashed into his mind and he caught a brief sense of terror, before the dragon fully woke up and replied to his statement.

It was curious and didn't want to go.

'_We got trouble,'_ He told it and gently tugged at one of the horns on its neck, pulling it upright. Between them arriving near the Mountains and now, the dragon had grown an additional feet in height. It was growing at a ridiculous pace, as it now stood almost as tall as a fully-grown man.

It sure did tower above Grunts.

The dragon stated that it wanted to eat the trouble next. _Hunger_.

"That won't work," He agitatedly replied and together, in the middle of the night, they disappeared again.

The Spartan quickly found a small river running through the indent where the feet of two large mountains met. He knew that rivers generally led to civilization, so the Varden sure had to be at the end of it. It was a stroke of luck for him to have found it, as he needed any and all leads that indicated where the mysterious group of rebels had founded themselves. And water was a perfect place for that.

Soon, the sun rose up in the sky once more and signaled the start of the eight day in Alagaesia. The Spartan didn't encounter any other enemies, but he stayed on his guard nonetheless. Nothing would ambush him on his way to the Varden, that much he was sure of. And even though he had spotted the occasional groups of humanoids marching through the mountains, their tempo was just too low for them to catch up to him.

During the day, he started teaching the dragon all sorts of things. He had felt their bond growing stronger over the course of the week and he did not understand a thing about it. But he did understand that the dragon was more intelligent than he had credited it for, even after he had understood its humanlike intellect. Had he wanted to, he could have held an entire conversation with it purely by mental images and smells. It insisted on hunting for itself and he let he fly whenever it wanted too, but he never lost the mental contact with the dragon. Even after he had climbed another mountainside to investigate the next valley, where he had witnessed his dragon flying away until he could barely see it without zooming in, he had not lost contact with the dragon.

And he hated it. He hated that the strange effect that his touch had created had manifested itself in such a tight link between him and the animals. He could feel what it felt and everytime the dragon did something, he was aware of the constant buzzing in the back of his mind.

But that link was not only annoying, it was also extremely dangerous. So when the sun started to set, signaling the end of the eight day, he decided to make camp and put up some ground-rules.

"Listen up," He told the reptile, "This link between us is dangerous and useless. If we are going to do anything, you will need to do exactly what I say."

_Amused._

"Physical rules," He told the thing, pretending he hadn't felt its amusement at his statement, "You will move silently. You will only hunt after having determined the area to be clear and you will attempt to hide your tracks. Affirmative?"

_Amused._

"Mental rules: whatever happens, you stay away from my memories and my thoughts. I don't need you poking around when I am fighting, clear?"

A snort, a plume of smoke and: _agreement._

"What is the status of your mental skills?"

_Confusion._

He sighed, understanding that the dragon might think him to be vague. "You read my thoughts, right?"

_Agreement._

"Can you read other thoughts?"

There was a brief moment of silence, before: _agreement._

The Spartan wanted to tell the dragon that it should practice its mental abilities, so that it might survive better. But it was going with the UNSC…so that they might learn from it.

On the other hand…he knew just how willing ONI was to gain an advantage for mankind. And as willing as they were, he was more willing. But if ONI ever got their hands on the dragon, they would most likely dissect it.

Alive. And then keep it for further experiments.

Did he really want to impose such a fate onto the dragon? The creature that was so deeply bonded to him?

No, he did not. They needed to figure out a way to break the bonds between him and the reptile before they did anything to it. And perhaps…perhaps he could find them a different dragon to keep, so that this one could live.

But what if the other specimens were weaker than this one? There was so much that ONI could learn from this creature, they might even figure out a way to reproduce the telepathic effects.

And he was all too aware of what such a gain could bring. He would not scale humanity against the dragon, as he would pick humanity every single time. If the dragon needed to die for mankind to live, so be it.

The Spartan decided to call it a day. His shelter on the slope of the mountain was more than sufficient enough for the dragon to sleep in if it curled itself up tightly. Its shoulders now stood as high as his own shoulders. Soon, it would be large enough for a man to ride it.

Not that he would ride the dragon, of course. His weight would probably break the dragon's back –and such an intimate act would mean that he and the reptile had grown closer to each other. He preferred to see the thing as an asset, rather than a person.

As the dragon curled its tail tightly against its body to prepare for the night, the Spartan decided that he wanted to spent a few more hours scouting the terrain like he usually did. He made his way to the other side of the mountain by means of careful climbing and walking and eventually, he was in an optimal position to overlook the next valley.

But there no such valley. The moon stood high in the sky and bathed the land underneath him in a strange, bluish-white light. It looked like he had reached the end of his current mountain-rage, as the plains that lay stretched out before him were surrounded on all sides by other peaks and spikes. Directly in front of him lay a small lake, where a large river ended in. The river ran all the way into the mountains on the other side, where it disappeared into the entrance of a new valley. The largest peaks –the ones that reached into the clouds- stood to his right, while his left was dominated by barren plains that looked like they belonged to the desert.

It seemed that the desert reached into the Beor Mountains in more ways than one.

A glistering light caught his attention and he turned to face the new source of light. Or rather, reflection, as the only light-source in these mountains was the moon. But what he saw was more interesting than any light-source or normal reflection. He could only see what it was by hitting the zooming function in his visor, but once he did he decided that he had to be going in the right direction.

It was a dragon. Just barely visible due to the moonlight, but the distinctive sparkling that had annoyed him about his own dragon – the glare that shone like a beacon to anything hostile -was very much present in the one he was spotting right now. It looked…blue and grey. The dragon was way bigger than the one he had, that was for sure.

The problem was that he had not seen that dragon before in the Beor Mountains. So it had either been there the whole time, or it had just flown in. But…shouldn't someone have seen it then?

He turned his gaze over the landscape while the dragon disappeared into the next valley and spotted a small group of figures traveling towards the entrance to the valley. He couldn't yet make out what they were or how many there were, as they were still too far away for him to make their details even with his zoom. The flying reptile had been flying over them…attacking them or escorting them?

He wasn't sure, but the appearance of this dragon was interesting...and if his information was correct, this dragon had to be bonded to the farm-kid. The one that was wanted throughout the empire; the one that the King wanted for some reason.

Was the dragon here to seek out the Varden or to fight it? Had this boy made up his mind yet?

One way or the other, it would be a good choice to follow them. They had to be here to seek out the rebel group, one way or the other.

And now that he knew which direction to go –namely not towards the giant peaks- he was one step closer to his goal.

The Spartan made his way back to the small plateau where his dragon was sleeping and decided to catch some shut-eye too. He had been constantly pushing himself for the past eight days now and he hadn't been able to sleep more than four to five hours each night. And while three hours per night was more than sufficient, he didn't like the thought of him not grabbing sleep while he could. It was foolish and idiotic for a soldier to deprive himself when that wasn't necessary.

He consumed the last nutrient bar and then lied down, preparing to sleep again. His armour wasn't the most comfortable thing to sleep in, but it would be more than enough. He had slept in worse conditions.

He managed to spend the night without being wakened too many times by the snoring of his dragon. Even though he had only fallen asleep in the middle of the night, he had still managed to catch the few necessary hours of sleep that would allow him to keep going.

He knew that sleep was as dangerous a weapon as any gun, but so was time. And if the blue dragon he had seen that night had been moving nonstop, he would have lost a lot of time.

He needed to compensate for that.

The soldier grabbed his combat knife and inspected it for any damage. The blade was precisely ten inches long and black as the night. To further supplement the nonreflective properties, the metal had been handled with a special chemical substance. No matter how bright the light sources aimed at him got, his knife wouldn't give him away. The point was streamlined and sharpened to the point that he could easily stab it through bone and most Covenant Combat Harnesses. Just like a machete, the lower edge of the blade was fit for delicate work, while the upper edge was suited for hacking. There lower edge was serrated, so that the knife would inflect gruesome damage when pulled out, but not to the extent that the knife would get caught on bones or plates of armour.

It was the perfect knife for him.

The Spartan then woke his dragon up, stepped back to avoid a ferocious kick aimed at his head and frowned.

"Watch it," He growled at the reptile and grabbed his Assault Rifle, attaching it to his back.

The dragon slowly roused itself and looked around with its big, yellow eyes.

_Confusion_.

Whatever. "What's wrong?" He asked it. The dragon had never actually initiated hostilities with him. Annoying worry and frustration, sure, but never actual violent feelings. So what was the dragon thinking that it could openly attack him?

The overgrown lizard then flashed him some messed-up collection of visions and images: he saw a few wolves, a black flash and then a woman with blood-red hair. Then a white flash and the group of horned humanoids, before and after he had ripped them apart.

The images faded away and he looked at his dragon again, trying to make sense of what he had seen. It was the reason that his dragon had lashed out at him…but whatever that reason was supposed to be, he had no clue.

Well, the dragon had been sleeping. Perhaps it was just some instinctive motion brought upon by his attempts to wake it?

In the end, he decided that it didn't really matter. Just another useless event.

The Spartan and his dragon moved down the mountainside and made their way to the river. The current valley was easily the largest one yet; the river alone could be long enough to compare to the trip between Petrovya and the first mountain of the Beors.

The hours faded away underneath the burning sun, but they only stopped twice during the four hours it took them the reach the two mountains looming next to the entrance to the subsequent valley. Once for him to retrieve some water and once for the dragon to rest its wings.

He wasn't planning on making a mad dash through the mountains, but he had receiving ghost-signals on his motion tracker with increasing frequency and he did not like it. Usually when his radar pinged targets for him, he was perfectly capable of telling where they were or where the signals were coming from.

But now? Nothing.

It was worrisome. He did not know where a possible attack could come from and that made the dragon vulnerable. He needed to devise a tactic to deal with a surprise attack, in case such a thing came. So he quickly thought of a way to get the dragon to safety should they get attacked and once he had thought of the best way, he discussed it with his companion.

The dragon didn't agree.

He didn't press the issue.

The sun was at its highest point in the sky by the time they both arrived near the end of the large valley. He still couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong…something very near to him. The dragon was still walking after him, as he had ordered it to stay close to the ground in case of an attack.

The Spartan carefully took in his environment, making sure that there weren't any hidden enemies waiting for him to lower his guard. He didn't spot gunmen or other ranged combatants…but he knew that there was something out there. Something was watching them, he was certain.

'_Do you feel that?'_ He asked the reptile.

Is disagreed with him. Curious; so the dragon didn't feel the hostile presence? He knew that he wasn't imagining it, so…there had to be something else going on.

He continued to march towards the narrowing of the two mountains, his assault rifle at the ready. He knew that there was something out there and any moment now, it could jump out and surprise him.

He passed through the opening and spun from the left flank to the right one with the barrel of his gun, trying to take in every single ledge, stone and cave that he spotted. His finger edged on the trigger, itching to pull.

Zero-zero-seven wasn't nervous. Neither was he anxious. His mind was in a serene state that seemed to come and go with the anticipating sensations of trying to predict an ambush. He was walking on the edge of a razor-sharp knife when doing so; falling to one side would allow him to calm down and ease his body, but falling to the other side meant slipping into the grey state of combat where years of training and experience took his body completely over.

But if everything went right, he would not slip into that black rage again.

Pebbles crunched underneath his boots and each with each stop he took, the sunlight lessened. The mountains were in a perfect position to block out the sun. Had the dragon and its rider stopped here in an attempt to ambush here?

No, he would have spotted them and his own dragon would smell its own kin. Whatever was stalking him could not be human or dragon. It had to be extremely gifted in stealth to be able to hide from his trained eyes.

A soft tickling near the back of his skull –he turned around with his rifle already brought to his shoulder, finger on the trigger and safety flicked off. The moment he caught something in his sights, he would squeeze off a lethal salvo and kill it.

There wasn't anything there.

A rock hit the ground and he spun around, just in time to see a redheaded figure dashing towards his dragon, which was still standing on the ground with its head cocked to the side.

"Move!" He shouted at the dragon, sending it an image of a bird in the sky while doing so. It was what he had thought of when he realized that they might be being hunted; he would the dragon that image only when it needed to fall back ASAP.

The message was understood and as the dragon flashed its agreement, he opened fire. Three bullets exploded out of the barrel of his gun and sped towards the human-shaped enemy, but it was way too fast and jumped away.

Nevertheless, he still managed to score a hit and two of the rounds impacted on the target's abdomen, exploding outwards as they tore right through its body.

The Spartan half expected a thin red trail to splash over the ground, indicating a successful hit. But that didn't happen.

And as the dragon spread its wings and jumped in the air, gaining altitude as the wind got caught behind the thin, black membrane growing over the bones, he tied to get another bead on his target.

The hostile reappeared approximately half a dozen meters in front of him, standing on top of a boulder as it eyed him and the dragon trying to fly away from them.

It –no, she- was very thin and very pale, with dark red eyes and hair. The hostile had a body fit for moving fast, but not at the blinding speeds that it had moved to distract him. Her appearance was as jarring as it was familiar. He knew that slim frame and arrogant expression.

He knew what this was, but that was impossible. He had pinned her body down with one arm and pulled the vertebrae in her neck apart from each other, effectively breaking her entire neck. No recovery was possible from that, as the brain simply did not receive any signals anymore.

She was the woman he had killed.

"You are dead," He told her, not believing that this was the same woman he had murdered eight to nine days ago. "I killed you."

She pouted her lips, her eyes practically oozing malice. "You impaired my corporeal form...forcing me to become disembodied as I reappeared in spirit form. But my body manifested later…stronger than before."

He couldn't believe that such a killing maneuver hadn't killed her. There was only one lifeform capable of such regeneration and that was not this –he knew that this woman could not be like that. Still, the semblance was extremely close.

It made him want to slaughter her. But he could not allow his mind to slip now, as he would lose the chance to save his dragon. She had to be after the hatched reptile and he could not allow that.

"It seems that the egg hatched for you…_rider,"_

'_Rider?'_ He thought. That term had been used before. So the empire thought him important?

"Who are you?"

"My name is not important. The king wants you alive…my partner wants you dead. I am inclined to follow her orders…unless you are a good abomination and come with me, that is."

The Spartan felt the urge to shoot her again, but she would just pop up again if he didn't do it right. He needed to buy his time and perhaps find out how to kill her.

"Who is your partner?" He asked her, seeking to win time for his dragon to get away. He had ordered it to flee and he was certain that if he could buy the reptile some time, he could dispatch of this woman without too much difficulty.

The creature briefly flashed its eyes to her side and while she did, he opened fire. Two bullets tore through the sky and sailed to her head, but she twisted around and dodged the bullet.

She had begun her motion as soon as she had turned her eyes, so he could not kill her that easily. This one was clever.

The woman burst into a sprint that was only rivalled by a Spartan starting to sprint, heading to the same direction that his dragon had flown to –and she was quickly gaining speed.

He couldn't risk missing the shot and allowing the monster to reach his dragon.

The Spartan then placed his rifle back at the magnetic slots on his back and exploded into action as well, digging his heels deep into the gravel-like ground underneath his feet. Shadows were creeping onto the shadows as the sun slowly continued to set.

The redheaded woman was fast –extremely fast. She was sprinting with a speed that surpassed charging brutes. He was forced to burst into a flat-out sprint in order to overcome her lead. The ground became a blur underneath his own body as he raced across the surface. The steady thumping of his boots thundering across the surface of the valley echoed in his ears and he felt the muscles in his legs warm because of the movements.

He placed one leg in front of the other in a constant rhythm, using his arms only to force his body further into the sprinting state, barely keeping balance as rocks shattered like fragmentation grenades underneath his boots. The female had an amazing starting speed; it had taken her only a few second to reach a top-speed, while it took him a few seconds to do so.

It allowed the creature to quickly outrun him for a few seconds and he could see that she had no trouble in dodging the many obstacles in her way. Rocks, branches and even lone trees were woven past as if they were intangible. The woman moved with an elegance and precision that chilled him.

But he surpassed her in speed. Even though she pumped her legs as hard as she could, avoiding the obstacles he could not, his MJOLNIR made it possible for him to reach speeds up to sixty miles per hour. He couldn't keep that up for very long, but it was obvious that she was after his dragon.

And that meant war. Time slowed down as the super-soldier's adrenaline glands worked overtime to pour as much juice into his body as possible. He saw the form of his companion in the sky, flapping its wings frantically as it tried to outspeed the monster that was its pursuer. Its black wings caught the occasional ray of light, betraying its exact position to the two following inhuman creatures.

He jumped over a rock, reaching a height of several meters, before landing on the ground. He never broke stride as he did and he kept a very close eye on the redheaded demon, who was sprinting through the varies bends and corners that the thin river offered them with no difficulty at all. Her athletic abilities reminded him of Secret-Spartan zero-zero-nine, who was by far the most athletic Spartan.

She would not lose this target and neither would he. He smashed through the occasional branches sticking out from the rocks and quickly accelerated to a speed of more than sixty kilometers per hour. The dragon appeared like a blur to those watching it from the ground, he was sure of that. It would attract more attention, that was bound to happen.

Its thoughts brushed against his mind and he felt how very terrified it was; the tidal waves of emotions were threatening to outbalance him, so he banished them from his head. But not before he understood how the two of them appeared to the dragon: two monsters racing over the ground with speeds greater than that of a dragon flying at full speed. It was not accustomed to living beings being able to keep up with it –which was strange, as it had only lived for eight days. How did it know that?

The redheaded woman was unfazed by the many obstacles in her way and her red hear flashed around her shoulders like a fire; equally exotic and equally lethal. He knew that this creature was dangerous and if she got her hands on his dragon, she would murder it before he could stop her.

That was not going to happen.

His heart throbbed in his throat and his legs were burning, but not because of the acid that was formed in the muscles. He could sprint like that for a long time. No, what he felt was the desire to go faster. To be better than that.

He flew across the terrain and slowly, he got closer to the redhead. Even her frantic jumping from one side of the mountain to the other could not save her; she was gaining ground on the dragon fast, but he was gaining on her faster.

The dragon flashed him a desperate message that it couldn't keep going like that for much longer and he cursed under his breath. The woman's hand slowly extended to the dragon even as time continued to suspend her movements in honey. He could see the tendons on her legs, the powerful muscles rippling underneath her deadly-pale skin as she launched herself from one rock to the other.

The flying reptile couldn't ascend fast enough. The desperate flight through the narrow aerial paths was taking too much of its concentration and it just couldn't get out of the demonic woman's reach.

The mountainsides didn't allow that. They were too narrow up there. He had to save her _now_.

His foe missed her grab and jumped to the right to dodge a rock outcropping that was blocking her way/

He did not and smashed right through the stone like an armoured missile. The impact jarred his teeth and drained his shields but he shrugged that off with impunity. He was too close now, he couldn't mess this up.

The woman made a second grab and her hand extended towards the scared dragon once again. Now was his change.

He stopped using his hands as balancing and reached out too, while his time-perception allowed him to calculate his movements once more with machine precision.

A smile of triumph appeared on the female's face, her features contorting into a feral smile of victory as she finally reached her prey. Sharp teeth were lined across her jaw in the place of normal human teeth, giving her a shark like appearance.

Her pale, spiderlike fingers closed-

-around thin air as his own unyielding gauntlet wrapped itself around her other hand, pulling her back and preventing her from grasping the legs of his dragon in a deadly grip.

He swung his own legs forwards and tore the woman out of the sky.

She screamed in annoyance and pain as their combined momentum continued to carry them through the sky and she attempted to place him in the way of the incoming obstacles.

No way. He increased the intensity of his grip and crushed the bones of her wrist into small fragments. Her skin erupted and black shadows poured out of it for a split-second, before her skin mended again. But he kept his grip on her wrist and her bones couldn't heal fast enough.

The two of them reached the point where their uncontrolled tumbling through the air got them nowhere but the ground and as his knee-guard skidded across the ground, his shields flared again. But once one of their limbs had touched the ground, there was no escape. They slammed into the ground with enough force to kill any normal human instantly from the sheer blunt force trauma alone.

A series of quick jabs jerked through his bones and he disengaged from the female, but not before he placed both of his legs against her torso and gave a violent pull.

The arm that he had been holding on to tore off from her body and the sudden withdrawal of forces split them up.

The female slammed into a wall, while he slammed an armoured gauntlet deep into the ground to prevent his mass from going too far.

His body slapped against the stones with a sudden halt and one final impact drained his shields one final time.

Sixty percent remained. More than enough.

He shook off the shock that followed in the wake of the high-speed chase and jumped to his feet.

The crumpled form of the woman still lay on the ground, moaning and groaning as she tried to recover from the damage she had taken.

But once he moved closer to her, she realized that he was about to deliver a killing blow and laughed at him.

"You have fire in your mind, demon!" She chuckled and rolled to her back, wrapping her remaining arm around her waist. A few bones sprung back into her body as her ruined chest-cavity healed itself. "I will enjoy prying you out of your suit and toying with you!"

He kicked her against her chest and sent her body flying into the stone wall, where she could start her damn regeneration all over again.

He felt the consciousness of his dragon reaching out again, but he pushed it away. The reptile had gotten away safely, that was important.

"What did you do, use magic to enhance your dragon? Yourself?" She sneered at him.

He ignored her comments and pulled out his sidearm, knowing just how to shut her up.

"You don't even know of magic, do you?" The female coughed and crawled backwards, trying to gain distance. "You don't know how I survived and grew stronger from your attack, do you now…idiot!"

Magic? Right. This smelled like bioengineering to him.

"I'm just going to come back an- argh!" She squealed once he closed his right gauntlet around his throat. Her remaining arm came up to punch him in his face, but he blocked it with his elbow and displaced his hand. He punched right through her abdomen and, with a wet crunch, wrapped his fingers around her spine.

She screamed and laughed at the same time, her skin growing paler with every second. Dark spots appeared on her legs and torso, but he paid those no mind.

"I am going to haunt you when I come back! And my master is going to torture you to the brink of insanity…for the rest of your pitiful life!" She spat at him.

He only allowed her to finish talking because he needed information. "What magic?" He barked at her, increasing the hold on her spine. Her skin and crushed organs were already regenerating around his hand, but he kept a deadly grip on her bone. This was beyond all normal forms of bioengineering or even alien influence –something else was going on here.

"Check…your…hand…" She gasped. "And know…that you will become a slave…to Raia! I am going to rape your mind and stick-"

He increased the grip on her spine and shattered the segment that he held in his gauntlet. Then, with a lightning-quick gesture, he pressed his sidearm against her forehead and pulled the trigger.

"Stick that in your little skull…" He muttered and got to his feet. The female screamed and trashed and finally, she exploded in a cloud of shadows, which quickly faded away.

And this time she had better stay dead.

A sudden gale of wind whipped the discharged round across the ground and he turned around to look at his dragon.

'_You protected me from a Shade,'_ A feminine voice told him. It was filled with admiration and awe, but it also held something else. There was a certain melancholy…combined with aching.

He turned to the dragon, the only living being currently with him. "Shut up," He told it and turned back to inspect the place where she Shade had died.

Something was off…very off. Her words plagued his thoughts and he couldn't help but shake the feeling that he was missing something. Something obvious…something big.

He turned to the dragon, frowned and stood up again.

"Did you just…?" He asked it.

'_Lastly, you require a name. A respectable one.'_ The same voice said.

Why was there a teenage girl speaking in his head?

"You talked?" He asked the dragon that, he had come to realize, was actually a she.

The creature snorted and crawled closer to him, bringing her head as close to his head as he allowed her. And the moment he wanted to push her back, she stopped. Her head was on equal heights with his and her large, slit eyes held more wisdom than they should have at her age.

'_Yes, I did. Who else? Now for your name.'_

"Do you have a name?" He asked her.

She was silent for two minutes, during which her consciousness probed his whole mind. It bounced off of mental walls, stayed away from areas that it shouldn't be nosing around in and finally slipped into the tight hole that he had created just for it –her. The small place where she could observe what he observed and share emotions and thoughts with him, but nothing else.

Suddenly, the intrusive tendril plunged itself deep into a crack he hadn't known existed in his mind and it reveled in other aspects of his mind. There wasn't anything in the new hole it created that could harm her, but he still didn't take kindly to her doing that.

"Stop it!" He ordered her and pushed her head away.

'_My name,'_ She told him impatiently, '_Is Aeraleth. I believe it fits me, after my time with you as rider.'_

"…what?" He asked her, feeling confused.

What had just happened?

* * *

"_Check voice-frequencies one…two…three…this is Mental Health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield, lead psychologist working with the Section Seven of the Office of Naval Intelligence. I have finally received a full report concerning the Augmentations. There is the Carbide Ceramic Ossification for near-unbreakable bones, superconducting fibrification of Dendrites…and several other enhancements that turn children into killing-machines. What the higher-ups did not want me to find out however, was the presence of at least three different kinds of drugs in this series. This…worries me. But I cannot linger on these uncertainties, as I have other work to do."_

\- Logbook entry (2), MHS Jennifer Sunfield, 30th of May, 2547


	5. Secret Spartan pt II

"_Lord Däthedr?"_

"_What is it Tanamo?"_

"_I have heard unsettling news from Ília Fëon. It is said that a metal star fell out of the sky, south of their city but west of the Dvergar outpost Hedarth. Shall we investigate?"_

"_Such is not our place, Tanamo. We must wait. And see what happens."_

"_Yes my lord."_

\- Conversation between elven Lord Däthedr and elven warrior Tanamo, One day after UNSC Planet incursion.

* * *

"You have a name?" The Spartan asked the dragon, feeling like he had been played somehow. The voice in his head –as weird as it sounded to him- was very much real. And the only creature that had even the slightest access to his mind was his dragon. The black-scaled creature even acted like she was the one who had talked to him.

And seeing as his mental link with the reptile had been growing so deep as that it allowed it – her- to send him messages in the form of smells, images and feelings. Words had to be what, the next step?

'_Everything has a name. You and I are no different.'_

Right. He didn´t remember giving his gun a name and neither had he given this…thing…a name.

"Where did you get that name?" He asked her.

'_From your mind. That is, the assurance that it suited me came from there. The name…I already knew.'_

"Which assurance?"

She snorted loudly and a puff of smoke blew out of her nostrils. '_You are making it very hard for me to read you. Don't. Give in and relax your mind.'_

"No," He told her and repressed the urge to plant his fist against the rock wall. Before _this_ happened, the dragon had just been another asset. With a humanlike intelligence and demeanor, but nothing more. An animal that could send telepathic messages over the course of a few days of mental contact. An asset to the UNSC if they could reproduce that effect.

But now that it talked…he had specifically chosen not to give the dragon anything that could define it as a person. He hadn't given her a name, he hadn't tried to take care for it and he hadn't ever tried to think of it as more than an asset. That was the way he wanted to go if he wanted to give her to ONI.

But now that she spoke to him with intelligence that surpassed most humans –now that she had a _name_…he couldn't do that anymore.

The stupid thing had blown away any changes he had at dumping it. Now…he wasn't so sure whether he could that. "When did you learn to talk?"

The dragon's tail whipped over the ground and a few rocks skidded over the ground. '_Just now. It is hard to explain…'_

"Then don't. Shut up and keep moving."

She growled –a deep, rumbling noise that originated from deep down her throat. '_Do not think to treat me like some child. You are my rider, my partner-of-heart. But that does not place you above me.'_

The Spartan turned to face the suddenly aggressive-sounding creature and placed his pistol back in the holster. The body of the creature that…Aeraleth…had referred to as a Shade had long since disappeared; he didn't have anything else to do there. But the attitude of the dragon was a problem –and one that he had to deal with before he went anywhere. It was late afternoon and he held no desire to argue longer than was necessary.

"Experience does. I told you earlier to do exactly as I said."

The dragon stomped with a claw against the ground, pulverizing several rocks with the violent movement. '_I am thankful for you saving me from that horror, but do not presume to know better than me. The wisdom and knowledge of my ancestors runs through my blood!'_

"Then use it," He told the rebellious dragon and turned away. Her comment about wisdom and knowledge was strange. There were things like instinct, for sure. But to have inherited knowledge purely by having been born? That was silly.

The river had stopped near a few rocks, where it continued in an underground body of water. The rest of the creek had dried out and the way they needed to go was devoid of water. He could not follow it any longer…so much for the 'follow the river' plan. "Next time we encounter such a thing, I want you to be ready."

'_I agreed to obey you like a pet because of the moment. We had just been attacked by Urgals and….'_

The dragon fell silent for a few seconds, before a slight tremor ran through her body. Then she lowered her head and took a step forwards. Her voice echoed in his head again and this time, her tone was more lenient. '_Your mind and body don't feel like those of an elf…but neither are they of a human. I feel foolish for asking…but why don't you feel like a human? I know you are, by our bond. But I cannot feel the prove.'_

"An elf?" He asked her. All that talking about magic and elves and magically regenerating and disappearing girls was…less than enlightening. "What?"

She stepped closer to him and curved her neck so that her head faced him. '_You do not know of elves, of shades or magic?'_ She asked him, surprise evident in her tone. '_Where did you come from?'_

"From-"

The Spartan stopped himself from talking and gave his next reply some more thought. He didn't know about magic and elves because they didn't exist. The dragon didn't know about other planets, aliens or space travel. His answer would only confuse her…but he didn't really think like coming up with some excuse.

He resumed talking, albeit more carefully. "I came from a different place. Far away."

That seemed to confuse the dragon. '_You are not from this land? Did you come from overseas?'_

"No…a different world." An idea suddenly popped up in his mind. "From the stars."

'_The stars?'_ The dragon replied in shock and immediately took a few steps backwards. '_Do not speak nonsense. Nothing lives there.'_

This was really hard to explain. "Humans live on many worlds. I thought that this world had been colonized by my people."

The dragon seemed to have a lot of trouble digesting that information. '_But…how did you come here then? And why did you bond to a dragon egg? I do not understand your reasoning.'_

"You're a dragon. Deal with it."

She growled again and walked past him. '_You spout nonsensical explanations for your origins and I am the one to deal? Your lack of respect is troubling! What will you do once you meet people that care not for your well-being, contrary to me?'_

She cared for his wellbeing? "Depends on whether I need them."

'_If not?'_

"I kill them."

'_Hunt only when you need to hunt.'_

"Like I said."

He glanced at the position where the 'Shade' had died once more and decided that he had better things to do than arguing with a telepathic dragon. He had a rebel group to reach. Empires to overthrow.

"Want to come?" He asked the dragon and took a step towards the dried-up creek, where another long journey lay ahead of them.

'_Of course I wish to come!'_ The dragon replied. '_I am a dragon, not some coward!'_

Whatever.

Together with the dragon, he continued marching. While he hated the fact that she was capable of speech now, he still saw the strategic benefit of her doing so. Barring the possibility of ONI dissecting her, he could now communicate to great levels with her. Tactics, strategies and battle-plans didn't need to be spoken aloud for her to understand them anymore.

Having recovered from her initial bout of anger, the dragon had decided to be curious instead. She asked him many questions and he tried his best to answer them without compromising security. She still didn't understand that he came from a different planet, but she did accept the fact that he was a human having come from the stars.

And they left it at that.

'_Where did your armour come from?'_

He tried his best to focus on speaking telepathically, but that didn't work out with sentences longer than half a dozen words. "My people made it. For soldiers like me."

'_Like you?'_

"Humans from my world are physically similar to humans from this one."

'_But you held the strength to murder a Shade with your bare hands.'_

"I am not similar."

'_Then what are you if not elf?'_

"A Spartan."

The dragon's eyes flashed upwards when she spotted a bird flying overhead. '_And that is?'_

"What you will call me."

'_Ah, is it your name as well? How ridiculous. I am not called 'dragon' now, am I?' _She told him in annoyance

His name wasn´t ´Spartan´, but it defined who he was to equal lengths. Both names were an indicator to him as a person as well as a living being. But while he had no problems with people calling him Spartan, his name was something completely different.

And he did not want this being to know it.

"My name is personal. You will call me Spartan."

'_Will I now? Is this another one of your silly 'orders'?'_

"Yes."

'_I agree to it, for now. Our bond grows stronger with every passing hour. Even now, I can feel what you feel.' _She grudgingly said.

"Can you?"

'_Even though it has only happened twice before, I can still feel your emotions when they peak. I felt your anger when you fought the shade…and the confusion when I first hatched.´_

"About that. What happened? Did you poisen me?"

'_No, foolish one. It was the forming of our bond –the unique bond between a dragon and the rider.'_

"What does that mean?"

She snorted impatiently. '_Do I look like an elf to you? I only know the things that run through my veins. I know of the ancient ways and the pact that the elves and the dragons first made when they signed the pact.'_

"How do you know? You weren't born."

'_The blood of my ancestors flows through me and it enlightens me wherever I go.'_

That was handy. But now it was his turn to ask some questions. "People keep talking about magic. But magic doesn't exist."

'_Does it not? You have seen evidence pointing at the difference.'_

"Explain."

'_I shall try. The female you encountered?'_

"Yes?"

'_She was a Shade. I do not know how they come into being, but I do know that it is through magic.'_

He didn't believe her, but neither could he think of a different explanation for the things he had seen. Talking dragons, regenerating women and horned monsters. It was all so strange.

The sun was starting to set and he wanted to rest one final night before setting out to finally meet the Varden. He hadn't seen the other dragon again, but he knew that he was going in the right direction. If the dragon hadn't returned, it would have reached its goal.

And that goal was still dead ahead.

Eventually, the two of them reached a large indent in the side of a mountain, where a few trees were growing side-by-side. The super-soldier decided that they would make for good improvised cover and directed his companion that she could take a place underneath them, if she could fit.

His dragon was amused by him continuing to grant her a night of sleep. '_What has happened to your previous impatience, little soldier?_' She asked him.

The Spartan, who did not like being called 'little soldier', did not understand her problem. "You need to sleep, don't you?" He asked her. He had only been granting _her_ wishes.

'_Of course I must sleep and eat and drink, but I am a dragon! None stand above me and I require sleep only after a few days if intense hunting.'_

She grew silent and brought her head close to his, looking at him with her big, yellow eyes. '_But I appreciate the gesture. Will you not tell me your name? I despise the title 'Spartan'.'_

"Then come up with one yourself," He replied and moved underneath the trees. He had found their improvised cover just in time, as dark clouds were already starting to form in the sky. The occasional droplet of water splashed on the ground and he briefly wondered whether Aeraleth could withstand a heavy rainfall.

He looked at the dragon, who elegantly stepped under the cover of the high-growing trees.

'_Do not worry, little soldier. I can stand the elements better than you.'_

He raised an eyebrow at that comment, but otherwise refrained from answering. His dragon's arrogance was probably a racial thing and she was too useful to alienate by insulting. He knew that he was completely incapable of conversing with people about anything else than military tactics and plans and he would most likely insult the reptile if he ever were to have a meaningless talk with her.

He did not want that.

She slowly raised her left wing, careful as to not destroy their cover, before staring at him with her intelligent eyes. '_Will you join me for tonight?'_

He realized that she was exposing her flank to him so that he could rest against her. She was large enough to serve as support for a sleeping person, that much was true.

But he was not about to cuddle with the dragon.

He shook his head and sat down against the stone wall a few meters to her side, rejecting her offer.

Aeraleth kept her position for a short while before she retracted her wing and turned her head away, choosing to sleep without him near her. Her choice of asking him near her was…strange. Why would she want to hold him close? She did not know him and she did not even understand him. Why would she care?

He closed his eyes and focused on calming his breath, which he always had to do before falling asleep. After everything that had been going on, he still felt the after-effects of the adrenaline-fueled chase with the shade.

His dragon seemed to know more about this world than he did…which made zero sense, as she had just been born. Perhaps her statement was true and she really did understand things through ancient blood. Seeing as she was a telepathic rapidly-growing smoke-exhaling black reptile, worse things could happen.

Magic was still fake though. That didn't exist. It wasn't possible.

He exhaled softly and gradually, he drifted away in a light sleep.

The night had different plans for the Spartan, though. As his mind slipped into the dark bowels of an altered consciousness, images flooded his brain and memories rose up.

_He was standing on a small, black rock, in the middle of a very thick fog. The voluminous layer of mist was pure white and he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him, which was worrying. How was he supposed to find out if anything was hunting him? He couldn't defend himself if he didn't see what was coming, right?_

…_why would anything be hunting him? He was alone. All alone. With nothing to worry about. And why would he even worry? He had completed his objective. All was well._

_And then the fog in front of him changed from a thick, white colour to a deep maroon one. The Spartan heard something liquid sliding over the floor with a subtle, wet noise and he instinctively reached for his assault rifle to counter the threat-_

_-only to find to his dismay that he did not possess such a weapon. He was completely unarmed –and even his MJOLNIR was gone. What could have happened to him that his armour and weapons had disappeared?_

_A stab of worry ran through him and his legs moved on their own, carrying him backwards without his consent._

_He willed his legs to move otherwise, but they didn't. They simply did not obey him and moved on their own, taking him backwards to avoid some distinct danger that he knew was lurking in the now red fog._

_Slowly, the white ground in front of him turned a dark shade of red that was frighteningly familiar to him. Large, red pools of liquid formed on the floor and soon, the blood-red stuff was flowing towards him._

_The Spartan attempted to back away even more, but his legs seemed to choose that specific moment to pin him down. He couldn't move a single inch._

_Pinned to the ground and rendered helpless, he watched as the blood streamed over his feet. A cold pit formed in his stomach and he gave a particularly forceful with his left leg, trying to tear it out of the sticky fluids that were engulfing him._

_For some reason, he hated the red liquid. He despised it. He did not want ti to touch him, but still it poured all over his feet and he could not defend himself against it._

_He had never felt so hopeless or underpowered. It was as if the stuff was violating him; ignoring his most basic needs and forcing him to give himself over. He couldn't get away, he couldn't-_

_The world around him shifted and changed; the blood that was steaming over his feet turned black and then disappeared and the dark fog turned into black smoke. _

_He looked around, searching for the origin of the sudden changes._

'_Rest calm, my young rider.'_ _A feminine voice spoke and suddenly, the world fell apart. It was as if a great wind raged through his surroundings, sweeping away everything that was strange and alien to him. He lowered his head and stared at his feet…his blood-soaked, wet feet 'All will be well.'_

'_All will be well.'_

Gasping for air, he shot upright, immediately rousing himself from his sleep. The world exploded into view and he quickly took in what he was seeing, his black knife resting in his right hand and a pistol in his left one.

A dozen meters to the front, a rock wall. To his right, a long path that was devoid of movement. To his left, the black form of Aeraleth who was staring intently at him.

His heart was pounding in his heart and he was vaguely aware of a nauseating sensation in his stomach. Cold sweat stood at his forehead and he felt like he was out of breath.

'_Are you alright, little soldier?' _His companion asked him with a voice that was laced with worry and kindness.

He scowled and placed his weapons away without replying. He couldn't believe that he had just been through yet _another_ dream, as he had been having a dry period of at least thirty days without dreams. Was this world already getting to him? Or was it the strange and intimate link he shared with Aeraleth?

'_You were having a nightmare,'_ Aeraleth insisted. '_Are you certain you are well?'_

"I'm fine," He snapped at the girl. Dragon .Thing.

He had no desire to continue discussing that topic with her. His dreams meant nothing –nothing- to him. And neither did they mean anything to her. "Mind your own business."

He half expected her to lash out verbally at him, but she did not. Instead, her voice adopted a melancholic tone. '_This…dreaming…has occurred before…yes?'_

The Spartan tried to swallow, but found that his throat was too dry to do so. For the very first time in Alagaesia, he felt tired. He didn't want to keep arguing with the dragon…he didn't dislike her caring persona. But neither did he like it. It…confused him. He didn't know if he really cared for the dragon or not.

He slowly lay back again, closing his eyes and letting his breath out softly. "Yes."

'_What is it that plagues you?'_

He tried to smile in a bitter way, failed to remember how to do so and then decided to go for a verbal reply. She couldn't see him anyway. "That's classified on a need-to-know basis."

'_Meaning?'_

"That I can't tell you. You are not allowed to know…and neither is it safe to know."

She growled softly. '_Not allowed to know? Who is it that believes they hold such control over you and me?'_

"My superiors," He replied.

'_Your superiors? Do you mean your elders?'_

"In a way. I am a soldier; I follow orders from the people who give them."

'_And they forbid you from sharing information with others?'_

"Yes."

The dragon was not amused. ´_Don't be ridiculous! Nobody is your master except yourself. If you wish to do something, you should not wait for orders from above like a dog waiting for a bone! You are a rider now, show some-´_

The Spartan did not allow Aeraleth to finish. "I am not a rider, I am a Spartan. I follow orders and complete missions, nothing more." He snapped at her and.

She fell silent, during which he lowered himself against the stone wall again.

'_If we cannot trust each other with our problems…our feelings…what is the point of us?'_

"There is no point. I will leave this world as soon as I can. I have better things to do." Then he turned his shoulder to the dragon and closed his eyes again, leaving the dumbfounded dragon alone with her thoughts.

She had one last comment though: '_Remember your age, little soldier. You were eligible for my choice because you are not yet an adult…and there is a reason for you being here. We both have a reason.'_

The Spartan did not really understand what Aeraleth meant. He was nineteen; he had been a Spartan for a very long time. Ever since he had been augmented, really. Age was…nothing more than a container for experience. The bonding that the dragon was talking about was a troublesome thing really, as he felt every emotion that he caused. Even though those emotions should not mean anything to him, they still left a small impact on him.

He hated his situation.

Luckily, the rest of the night passed without any weird dreams for the Spartan. He woke some time before the sun raised again, for the tenth time since they had arrived at this world.

Aeraleth was quiet when they woke, choosing to only tell him that she was going off hunting before leaving him. But he didn't mind that; he welcomed the isolation.

He couldn't believe that he had been stuck on some backwater planet for ten days at an end. His desire to reach the UNSC was slowly starting to grow overshadowed by the realization that he had been seeing things that were simply impossible. He knew that things could be important for mankind, but they could also be dangerous. He was lucky that the war had been put on a hold and he truly did not want it to continue. But this land had a completely new war already laid out for him and the actions of the ruling empire had forced his hand. But he had to be realistic; Wren was dead. His crew was dead and he had no way to contact the _When Duty Ends _on his own. If they were lucky, a battlegroup would be dispatched to recover him too. He wasn't the only one who had been lost; the entire Lima Battlegroup had been sent away from Math-011.

So basically, he was stuck. Very stuck. It would be weeks before the UNSC could potentially find him, if not months.

He did not feel very fond of the prospect of waiting for months at and end, especially not when there wasn't anything he could do about it. However…if he were to spend his time stuck in this world…he might as well do some cleaning.

He had an empire to tear down. And his dragon could assist him in doing so.

After an hour of three of nonstop marching, the dragon swooped down from above.

"Done?" He asked her.

She did not answer.

That meant she was either shocked by something, or still mad at him. And given her complete lack of injuries or natural predators, it had to be the second one.

He liked silence in its natural form alright, but he did not want Aeraleth to remain silent for a prolonged period. He was going to work together with her for what was probably a very long while, she he might as well make something good out of it.

She touched down on the ground and folded her giant wins.

"Aeraleth?" He asked her, trying to get her attention.

Silence in his head.

"Are you suited for diplomatic negotiations? "

A tang of surprise ran through their mental bond and she indulged herself in answering him, albeit in a snarky and angry fashion. '_I am a dragon; diplomacy is something I am ill-suited for.'_

"Then we may have a problem."

'_How so?'_

"I'm not suited either."

Aeraleth couldn't keep herself under control and a deep reverberating growl escaped her throat. He felt that she was amused and quickly realized that she was actually laughing. That was good; it meant that her emotional status was improving.

'_You, not suited for building relationships with people? How surprising!'_

What? She didn't know that already? "No, really. Talking generally doesn't work for me."

The dragon's laughing grew louder and he could actually see her flanks rising and falling rapidly with each deep breath she took in her laughing fit. '_I would have never figured that out on my own.'_

She couldn´t be really smart then, if she hadn't realized that by now. "Pay closer attention then."

The dragon turned around and confronted him again with her face. She was now officially larger than he was, standing a full head higher than him. Her body had to be longer than eight meters right now; her talons were almost as large as his combat knife and some of her teeth were already of that size.

'_I was being sarcastic,'_ She told him with a hint of amusement.

Ah. That explained it. It was a problem that had a tendency to reoccur quite a few times; he was unable to properly understand sarcasm and neither could he convey it himself. Lucky for him, sarcasm wasn't used that frequently in his life. But still, it was another obstacle that stood in his way when it came to diplomatic relationships. As soon as he met the leader of the Varden, the only thing he could possibly do was killing him, choosing not to kill him or threatening to kill him.

"I didn't realize that," The Spartan said. He found it rather hard to formulate his thoughts and sentences in a way that did not insult the dragoness. He had decided that he wanted to make the best out of whatever time they had, but that did not mean he could overcome the communications-blockade just like that. So if he had to talk in a way that did not directly relate to issuing or executing orders, he really had to struggle to find the proper words.

He didn't generally talk very much.

They continued to Beors, both Spartan and dragon trying to overcome their communication problems.

'_How come someone like you found himself here?'_

"I was on a mission that went wrong. Our ship ended up here, damaged beyond normal repairs. We set out to investigate the surface…but we encountered enemy activity."

'_I felt as much when you gathered my egg from the King's clutches. I felt your many troubles throughout the journey, including your most impressive feat.'_

"Feat?"

'_You killed more than a hundred humans during one battle without getting hurt. I didn't think humans could be so savage. How did you become a warrior like that?'_

"Training," He replied, remembering the many painful sessions that he and his fellow Spartans had been forced to undergo. The excruciating physical training…followed by the augmentation procedure. He had been among one of the younger Spartans to undergo the project. "Lots of it."

'_What made you so different from other humans?'_

"Long story."

'_We have much time on our hands and I would rather not spend it fighting each other.´_

The Spartan heisted; he didn't know just how much he could tell Aeraleth, as she wasn't cleared to know and could present a security risk. However, she was closely linked to his mind and sooner or later, she might start to find certain things out.

In the end he opted for telling her a partial truth. "Thirty years ago, mankind encountered a collective of species called the Covenant. They were hostile and initiated hostilities. To combat them, our military leaders – called the United Nations Space Command- employed Spartans."

'_But you weren't even alive at that start, yes?'_

"Yes. But the SPARTAN-project was larger than my group. The initial group was a failure, the second group was not. Some time ago, my group got created. We were trained and given armour to fight the Covenant."

'_How did this war end?'_

"Mankind survived. The Covenant collapsed due to a civil war."

'_Then why are you here, if there is no reason to fight any longer?'_

"There is always a reason to fight."

'_You still did not answer my question,'_ Aeraleth impatiently replied.

"Aeraleth…my past is bloody and classified-"

'_Are you going to withhold your own life from me?'_

"-no. But I don't want to talk about it. It's irrelevant to our current mission."

'_I shall judge that.'_

He sighed, understanding that Aeraleth was truly unlike anyone he had met before. He could simply not interact with her without either insulting or disturbing her. Talking to people was usually quite similar to walking in a minefield to him, but this was a special case.

Instead of blowing up, he could harm the only creature that he had even remotely cared about since a long time. He did not want to harm Aeraleth. And he was not sure why that was, apart from the obvious use she had to him.

Perhaps this forced bond ran even deeper than he had initially thought? "If you're patient, I can think of things that aren't classified."

'_Patience is not my strongest side.'_

"I need you to be diplomatic first."

The dragon was about to return a witty remark when the Spartan suddenly stopped and held his hand in the air, with its back aimed at the dragoness and its fingers tucked in. '_Stop!´_He told her telepathically.

She sniffed the air and lowered her head. '_What is it little soldier? I do not smell anything.'_

"Look," He told her and kneeled down next to a sandy patch, where a footstep was clearly visible. He had been so busy keeping an eye on his surroundings that he had forgotten to look at the ground.

'_Ah,'_ the dragon replied, '_That is the footstep of an Urgal.'_

"And there are more of them."

The area was completely littered with the strange footprints of the so-called 'Urgals'. If he were to estimate their numbers, he would come at a number somewhere between fifty and hundred.

'_Do you know what this means?' _Aeraleth then asked him and gave the Spartan an intense look.

"We're going the right way," The soldier replied and reached for his rifle.

'_Amongst others. It signifies that there is a mass of them heading out for the Varden. Remember those you saw in another valley? They too must be aiming at going there.'_

The Spartan understood that crystal clear. "Move out ASAP."

He felt his partner's confusion at his statement and awaited her comment.

'_I do not understand the latter.'_

She didn't understand military abbreviations, he should have understood that. She was a savage, if intellectual, animal…but also a noncombatant. "It means as soon as possible. Remember it."

'_Alright?'_

He gave another look at the footprint. It had seven toes and it was larger than a human's. Whatever had made that impression on the ground had to have weighed as much as an Elite…and judging by the width, it was even larger than that.

Did it belong to the hostiles he had eliminated? Possibly; they had been the only ones large enough to have left such a footprint. But where were they now? He had been moving too fast for the large collective force he had seen to have caught up to him…and neither had he left anything else on his six.

The explanation to his problem: the force that had been stalking the other dragon. He had seen a small group of warriors entering the same valley a day ago and it had to have been that specific force that had left all these footprints.

So somewhere at the end of this mountain-pass was an army waiting for them. The Varden was in deep trouble; wave after wave of hostile soldiers were heading out to find them and if he was correct, the Varden would not withstand those numbers.

Unless these Urgals were reinforcement for the rebels…that would mean that he had killed about fifty abled warriors that could have otherwise engaged the empire he was opposing. But they had failed to identify themselves and they had showed aggression towards Aeraleth. That was unacceptable.

But if the Varden knew of those creatures as their allies, he couldn't show up at their borders drenched in their blood.

He needed to take a bath to wash off the caked-up blood that clung to his armour. Even though the colour of his MJOLNIR was already very dark, it was still obvious that he had been involved in a bloodbath.

They spent another two hours marching through the mountains, making their way around a particularly large peak. Eventually, the Spartan slid down a slope into a new valley and Aeraleth flew overhead, casting a large shadow over him.

The Spartan took the new environment in and processed the tactical repercussions of entering it. They had entered a valley that was enclosed by sheer cliffs on all sides, with a large lake that went all the way from the southern-most area to the northern-most area, where a large waterfall poured down from above.

'_Aeraleth, land, now! ´_ He ordered the dragon, which quickly acknowledged his command and touched down roughly a dozen meters in front of the lake.

_´What is it little soldier?'_ She asked, her voice thick with worry.

The Spartan jumped the last few meters and landed in front of the sloped wall, making his way to the landed dragon while keeping a close eye on his surroundings.

There were dozens of weapons and arrows littering the shores next to the lake, with large patches of black blood pooling in small ditches in the ground. But that was nothing compared to the many bodies that were scattered all over the area; at least fifty grey bodies lay sprawled across the dirt, floating in the water or slumped against the rocks. The lake had grown dark with the amount of blood that had been spilled and the way those Urgals –for these had to be Urgals- had died made the entire area reek of a kill-zone. Most corpses had arrows sticking out, meaning that they had been murdered from a distance.

And what better distance to have than from on top of a wall? Or better yet, open areas behind walls?

'_See that waterfall?' _He asked Aeraleth, focusing on communicating only. He couldn't keep a long conversation going without opening his mind to her further and that would risk memories and thoughts seeping through.

'_I do. This place reeks of death and destruction…not in the same way you do, but in a different way.'_

He smelled of death and destruction to her? That was to be expected. '_There are cracks.'_

A knot formed in his stomach as he tried to squeeze more words through. They were about to be ambushed and he couldn't speak aloud, because there were probably people watching them as they communicated. As soon as they heard that they were compromised, those people would open fire.

'_In the walls.'_

He wasn't fast enough. '_Screw it_,' he thought to himself and decided to risk it.

Then he opened the tiny hole in his mental defense up and allowed Aeraleth to settle her own consciousness there. He instantly suppressed his thoughts even more and focused on what needed to be done.

'_There are cracks in those walls, a hundred meters to the north. There are people hiding behind there and they will attack us if we close in.'_

'_How do you know this?'_ Aeraleth asked, '_Can you feel their minds?'_

He could feel minds of other creatures than his dragon? That required some more thought. But for now he had more important things to do.

'_Jump in the lake, now!'_

Aeraleth did not question him further and instead followed his order without problems; diving headfirst into the lake.

Once her large body had been completely submerged, he followed her into the deep lake. Due to his airtight suit, he didn't worry about losing air or anything like that. His MJOLNIR was rated for atmosphere and vacuum alike.

He did not know whether that went for Aeraleth as well, but she knew her boundaries better than he did.

'_Hold onto me,'_ she told him and he grabbed her tail when it flashed past him.

Aeraleth then dragged him through the water, taking him with her to the northern section where the waterfall was clattering into the lake with the pounding of a thousand hammers.

'_How much do you weigh?' _She asked him, strain evident in her mental voice.

'_Can you get us to the waterfall?'_ He asked her.

'_I must.'_

If there were archers or worse, gunmen, waiting for behind the wall he would force them to lean out of their holes by making his way to the waterfall. That way, he could cover Aeraleth while she snapped up and murdered them. But he heard no rifle-shots and neither did he hear arrows sifting through the water. They weren't being attacked so far.

He waited for a minute or two before deciding that he was close enough and then let go of her tail, using powerful strides of his limbs to get through the remaining amount of water.

Due to the heavy nature of his MJOLNIR, he was forced to use all his strength to even stay adrift. If he remained still, he would sink like a brick. But a swimming Spartan was still faster than any swimming human and soon, the roaring of the waterfall reached its peak.

He realized that the waterfall did in fact not signify the end of the valley; there was a large, cavernous room behind the mass of water that led into a tunnel.

'_This has to be the Varden's hideout,'_ He realized.

Then he directed his thoughts to Aeraleth and told her that there was a room behind the waterfall.

'_Is this where our new allies are resting?'_ She asked him while her black head reared above the surface of the now-underground lake, dripping water as she continued to rise.

Her black scales were as reflective as the water was and even though the cave was only lit by a few scattered torches –indicating that it was recently used- she still sparkled like a gemstone.

He would have to do something about that soon.

Two circles on his motion tracker appeared and this, he could see that they were human-sized. A battle had taken place very recently and it could be that the Urgals had already infiltrated the cave-system.

He heard footsteps echoing in the distance even as Aeraleth exited the lake and he drew his rifle again. The thing couldn't get jammed by mud or sand, so he did not doubt its effectiveness after having subjected to water.

'_We got hostiles,´_ He replied. Either the Varden had won the battle and were coming to apprehend him, or the Urgals had won the battle and THEY were coming to apprehend him. Either way, the people that were coming his way were hostile.

But to avoid alienating possible allies, he would avoid killing them.

´_They would not dare harm you if I am with you!´_ Aeraleth told him and snapped her powerful jaws, producing a loud, violent sound.

´_Keep low,´_ He told the reptile and crept closer to the darkest section of the wall, where he would be the hardest to spot.

Whatever would come for him, he would be prepared to deal with it.

The footsteps grew gradually closer and closer, until he made visual contact.

Two tall, bald men with strange robes slowly walked toward him. They looked identical to each other, so he guessed that they were twins.

"Come out!" One of them spoke with a voice that oozed ego and arrogance. "We know that you are here!"

'_They must be working with the Varden,'_ Aeraleth told him, '_Don't kill them!'_

'_Copy,'_ He replied.

One of the twins made a gesture with his hand and shouted "Garjzla!"

A red light suddenly appeared in-between the twins and the Spartan, hovering in the air without any visible way to hold it up. The Spartan raised his eyebrows when he saw that, linking the phenomenon with the word 'magic'.

"Heavens, it's a dragon!" One of them shouted when they saw Aeraleth's bulk reflecting their summoned light with her black scales.

Thinking that the two were going to attack his companion, the Spartan stepped out from the shadows and aimed his rifle at them. "Get back!" He barked at them and clicked the safety off.

The two bald men appeared completely flabbergasted for a few seconds, before they seemed to collect themselves. One of them stepped forward and raised both of his arms.

"It appears that one of the king's eggs has hatched. Tell me rider, what are you doing here?"

The voice sounded forced, as if the apparent magician had to actually work at sounding nice.

"You infiltrated the entrance to Farthen Dûr. You do realize that this is a crime that must be punished?" The other spoke, already sounding less pleasant than his brother.

He ignored the obvious threat and tried to think of a way to resolve the conflict without bloodshed.

He found none as of yet. "Where is your leader?"

Both men raised their eyebrows at the same time, which annoyed the Spartan greatly. Then they stepped closer to each other and said in union: "Nobody may enter without having their mind searched."

The left one turned to the right one. "This one cannot be Kull, for he is near a dragon. However, his armour is unlike any I have seen before. He must be working for the king."

'_That is nonsense!'_ Aeraleth angrily told him, '_If you were working for that oath-breaker, you would already be strangling them with their own intestines. They are seeking a reason to attack you.'_

"Relax," He told the two sneering bastards, "I'm not here to fight you. Take me to your leader."

"Oh, that is too bad," The right one replied and smiled cruelly. "Nobody may enter before having their thoughts scanned for evidence of treachery. As you might know, the only free rider is currently with us."

"Yes, for all we know you might have sworn oaths to the king. I can not imagine where you got that dragon's egg otherwise," The other one replied, leading Aeraleth to growl violently. The cave shook for a moment and several rocks broke off of the ceiling and fell to the ground.

The two bald men instantly jumped back and pulled their sleeves back, while Aeraleth contacted the Spartan again.

'_They would not believe you otherwise, little Spartan. Can you show them your memories of finding my egg?'_

'_Will they stop there?'_

'_I am not sure. While I do not understand your desire to keep your mind such a secret from me, I can respect it if you wish to do the same with these humans. They do seem very ready to do violence.'_

It was decided then. He was not about to have his mind read by some arrogant asses, even if they could conjure light out of thin air.

"That's not going to happen," He told the two and returned his Assault rifle to his back, so that he might be able to fight with both hands without risking the precious rifle.

"So be it!" One of the bald men spoke and closed his eyes. A second later, the Spartan felt something akin to a barbed knife plunging itself deep into the walls around his mind. The experience was very unpleasant and he understood immediately that he was under a mental attack.

'_Spartan!'_ Aeraleth shouted in his head, '_We must not kill these two, but neither should you give up your secrets to them.'_

He got that much. He had no clue how to defend himself against something that was not physical, but he understood that he could banish the probing tendrils of another man's thoughts out by simply willing it. His discipline was at a high peak, even though he had allowed himself to fall in a fit of black rage at one time during his stay in Alagaesia.

Nevertheless, when the attack on his mind was joined by the other balding men, he understood that his inexperience in mental warfare might be problematic. However, he found himself perfectly capable of blocking these men's attempts to break his mind.

Then the combined attack managed to cause a temporary slip in his concentration when they performed a rather painful maneuver. It caused a memory to pass through between them and the twins greedily grasped at it, wrapping it in their own telepathic signals and revealing its contents to themselves.

It was a very brief and simple memory, of him killing four grunts in quick succession using duel-wielded blades.

_Blue, phosphorus blood dripped in the ground as he pulled his knife out of the alien's skull, letting the body slip out of his grasp. The three remaining grunts squealed loudly, but he moved faster than they could even jump up and before they knew it, he had murdered two of them with quick stabs at their skulls. Then he ripped the gas-mask off of the face of the third, before cracking its skull with a flashing kick._

_The bodies tumbled to the ground, bleeding, and he sprinted off to catch the next target._

The Spartan realized that the twins were too caught up in the memory to notice that he had long since let go of it. No, it was more than that. They were shocked by the images; he could feel their collective emotions slipping over to his side. They were scared of the strange creatures, disgusted by their blood and horrified by the way he had killed the grunts.

He took their moment of weakness and counterattacked, allowing the link between his mind and theirs to expand until he had a good grip on the mind of one of them. Their minds were strangely entwined, as if they were lending each other strength.

'_Aeraleth, can you join your mind with me?'_ He asked his dragon.

'_Yes my rider. Do you need assistance?'_

'_I need to know. How do I fight with my mind?'_

Then, his companion told him about breaking the walls around the minds of his foes and overpowering their bodies with his will.

The entire procedure was too complicated, so the Spartan decided on a different method instead. He quickly found that he was capable of both defending his mind against the painful attempts at invasion as moving his limbs, so he used that to his advantage.

He took two big steps forwards and swept the legs from the closest hostile away from underneath his legs, sending his body tumbling to the ground while turning horizontal, as his support suddenly fell away.

Then the Spartan reached out and grabbed the man's face, bringing his head down with moderate strength to the dirt floor. It wasn't hard enough to kill him, but it was hard enough to knock him out cold for a while.

The second man screamed in surprise and pain and staggered backwards, but the Spartan was way faster. He grabbed the man's shoulder with his left hand, jumped over him and then positioned himself with his stomach against the guy's back. Then he snaked his right arm around the bald man's throat and choked him into unconsciousness.

His mind was in constant connection with the twins and he had felt their arrogance and confidence turning around completely, changing into open fear and terror as he overpowered them with ease.

He was confused by their fear and downfall. They had been so smug…and they had fallen so easily. And what was so wrong about his memories of fighting grunts, of all things? It was obvious that this world possessed more than it seemed…but could these two have really used magic? Could magic really exist?

'_Well done young soldier,´_ Aeraleth said with a hint of amusement, ´_you just defended yourself against two mindbreakers.'_

'_Two what?'_ He replied. He didn't really know the term mindbreaker, but he could imagine what it meant. He was a Spartan, so banishing out pain and discomfort had been easy for him. The pain and damage inflected when the two bald men had started intruding his mind had been manageable, but a normal person would have been incapacitated.

'_A Mindbreaker is a person who normally possesses no magical skills, but excels at breaking into the mind of his foes. These two however, seemed to knowmagic.'_

'_What was that word he yelled? Some code-word?'_

'_No. It was a remnant to a forgotten past. Someone more eligible than me can tell you.´_

Aeraleth wasn't thinking clearly; if someone with more knowledge than her existed, that person would be a threat to the both of them. Also, the only person he was willing to listen to was Aeraleth herself. He couldn't –wouldn't- trust anyone else. _´Someone more eligible than you does not exist.´_

'_You flatter me,'_ The dragon replied softly. '_But now is not the time for compliments, we must-'_

'_-it wasn't compliment.'_

She fell silent for a second or three, before slowly replying again. '_What else was it?'_

'_A statement.´_

_´I do not know whether to be happy or worried about that.´_

_´Neither. Move out.´_

The dragon snapped her jaws together and he felt her amusement seeping through their link. He looked at the bodies of the twins one more time before deciding that they were secured there; they wouldn't wake up anytime soon and neither would anyone find them.

'_You did not kill them.'_ Aeraleth told him. After they had been walking through the lit tunnel for at least half an hour. The shaft kept moving upwards, downwards and then sideways, which made it hard for the dragon to fly through it, even though it was large enough to hold her that way.

'_You told me not to.´_

_´But you actually listened. That is good.´_

_´Make no mistake,´ _He replied, '_I let them live because of the Varden. If I hadn't wanted to ask for their help, I would have killed them.'_

'_Had you not desired to seek the Varden, I would have killed them myself.'_

'_Yes?'_ He replied. Sometimes he forgot that Aeraleth was a dragon; a savage, fierce hunter.

'_Yes. You were more than capable of defending yourself against their tricks, but they did attack you. A crime only repaid by me eating the offender.´_

_´Next time you will get a meal.´_

_´That implies you intent to get in more trouble.´_

He ignored that remark and continued down the tunnel, increasing his speed. The dragon was larger than he was so her steps were bigger too. Add to that that she was a quadruped animal and one had the formula for a very fast reptile. While he had been forced to withhold his tempo for her sake, he could now walk at his own normal speed without fear of her falling behind too much.

He had to admit, the tunnel was made with craftsmanship. The angles at the corners were perfectly square and the walls were flawless, so the people here had to have at least the most basic skill at mining. How long had they been down there?

Eventually, the Spartan saw more light at the end of the tunnel than he had been seeing the past thirty minutes. He zoomed in on the probable exit and saw two large black doors, decorated with lights and gems at two pillars standing next to it. It all looked unnecessarily fancy and he did not feel for it.

Once they had reached the double set of doors, large enough for Aeraleth to pass through unhindered, the Spartan took his position at one door and attempted to force it open.

But then he heard a faint screeching and he quickly stepped back with his rifle aimed squarely at the doors. They were swinging open, outwards on hidden joints.

'_That was unexpected,'_ His dragon pointed out.

As the doors opened, rays of sunlight streamed inside and his visor polarized to prevent him from being blinded. He didn't know if Aeraleth had a method to prevent herself from being blinded, as she gave no indication of discomfort.

When he saw what was inside of the tunnel, he frowned. They were inside of a massive volcanic crater; its walls narrowed to a small opening at the top, at least twenty kilometers high. The sunlight was coming from there, illuminating the rest of the crater.

There was a cobblestone path extending from the doors, running straight to the center of the room where another ridiculously oversized structure; it was a mountain, roughly two kilometers high, that had a rough cone-like appearance.

What annoyed him more than the vast scale of the mountain however, was the crowd of people gathered around the cobblestone path. In the same second it had taken him to take in the size of the hollow mountain, at least dozens of people had turned to stare at them. There were at least a hundred of them, scattered around the entrance of the cave.

But what surprised the Spartan the most, was the presence of humans that could only be defined as ´dwarves´. Roughly sixty percent of the humans that had gathered to look at them were pint-sized hairy people that didn't even reach to his waist. Most of them had long beards and moustaches, but the females were not hairy.

Their proportions didn't identify them as people with a growing disorder and there were too many of them for it to be a disease.

'_Dwarves?' _He asked Aeraleth.

'_Yes. They live in the Beor Mountains.'_

'_They are not humans?'_

'_Do not be silly. Of course dwarves are not humans! Dwarves are dwarves, just like dragons are dragons and elves are elves.'_

Her reply only puzzled him. Up to that point, he had believed this world to be a simple rebel outpost or a forgotten UNSC colony. But he had seen dragons, magic and 'shades'. And now he had even seen mindreading people and dwarves.

To him, this resembled some fantasy world. But these things were real. Solid. Facts.

The Spartan realized that he was stuck in something that was bigger than what he knew; there were things that he could not explain and this entire world fell outside of the UNSC. But he had interfered…declared war on the empire and stole their dragon-egg.

He was too involved to try and walk away from it all.

'_What do I do?' _He asked Aeraleth. He truly had no idea what he could do to fix the mess that it all had become. It was as if a solid floor underneath his feet had fallen away, dropping him in a deep and dark lake.

He was lost.

'_What do you want to do? Do you wish to join the Varden and take the fight to the empire, or do you wish to flee this land and live your life somewhere else?'_

No fleeing. No surrendering. He was good for one thing and that was winning. '_I wanted to find the Varden for information on how to get out of this world. But now…I don't think it will be that simple.'_

The rules had changed. He could either stand still and be swept away in the tide, or he could move along. Change and adapt like he had done so many times.

'_I for one will not accept it if you wish to join the empire and fight for Galbatorix. That egg-breaker has murdered all but one of my kin.'_

'_You want revenge?'_

'_I want to tear the empire apart and free the remaining two eggs.'_

So there were still two eggs in the king's clutches? If those hatched…and produced riders who could wield magic…they could hunt down the Pelican dropship and find important hardware. They could destroy the Varden and everyone who opposed the empire. That was unacceptable.

And…Aeraleth had stated her wish. She wanted to free the eggs. Now he had a goal –a mission to undertake. It gave him purpose.

'_Then we will do that.'_

Aeraleth was very pleased, but the dwarves that were looking at them had finally realized just what had entered their cave. Their facial expression changed from frowning to shock to panic.

The crowd finally realized that they were being visited and they descended into total chaos and panic. They started to scream and shout and run, all the while spouting nonsense over Galbatorix and the end.

He got that the blue dragon and its rider had probably entered here first, as the empire was actively hunting a rider. And he had seen said rider flying to the valley. The Urgals at the gate had been killed, so the only logical conclusion was that the Varden already possessed their rider.

And seeing how nobody seemed to know of him and Aeraleth, he could safely conclude that they had not expected him.

Together with Aeraleth and ignoring the civilians, the Spartan marched over to the entrance to the large, white mountain. The closer he got to the thing the more he realized that it had been decorated with white marble, statues and all kinds of groves. At the very front of the mountain, two large statues of mythical birds were standing –both of them in solid gold.

What a waste of resources.

There was a rather heavy gate in front of them, but luckily it wasn't yet closed.

'_Move it!´_ He snapped at Aeraleth and dashed underneath the iron gate before it could close before them.

They were standing in a very large room, easily four stories high. The walls were littered with archways and he spotted at least two dozen doors stretched out across the room. It seemed that the screams and chaos of outside the mountain had reached all the way to the inside, as dozens of dwarves and humans, all armed, streamed out of the doors.

'_We're surrounded,'_ He noted and calmly kept on walking, ignoring the nervous stares that the guards flung at them. Dwarves fiddled with their axes, humans nervously stroked their swords and examples of both species strung their bows.

Nobody fired.

He did not have enough ammo to kill all of these people and when it came to a fight, Aeraleth would get severely injured. He didn't know which ones were capable of magic and neither did he know where the other dragon was. To initiate hostilities now would be to initiate a bloodbath…and one nervous release of a bow or one displaced weapon and both parties would tear the other apart.

This was _exactly_ why he did no negotiate. Wren was the diplomatic one, he was not. He was necessary when the diplomatic negotiations failed.

'_What do we do now?'_ Aeraleth asked him.

'_Keep walking.'_

The large room ended in a black arch that was surrounded by black and gold pillars, which they reached without being opposed.

It was curious. They were completely unopposed, yet there were at least two-hundred warriors visible. Why weren't they attacked?

Aeraleth stepped through the large arch and then hummed deep in her throat. He understood that she was impressed and he also understood why.

They were in a circular room, roughly one-third of a kilometer across, that reached all the way to the top of the mountain. The walls –narrowing as they rose- were lined with arches, each for each level of the city-mountain. The room seemed to be a nexus for four hallways –including the one they had just exited- that probably divided the mountain in four quarters.

The roof was capped by a giant jewel, which was crafted to resemble a rose. It was an enormous waste of resources and could be far better spent by disassembling and distributing it for money or other resources.

For a dug-in rebellion that lacked the proper resources, they sure were rich. Their commander had to be a very thick one to waste such resources to decorations.

But they weren't alone in the large room. A large, broad man with a beard and official-looking armour, a dwarf with a helmet and a young-looking boy, with strange clothes and a sword-sheath at his hips.

Those ones were of no consequence to him. What caught his attention however, was the presence of a rather pretty woman and a large, Sapphire-coloured dragon easily towering above Aeraleth. It was the same dragon he had seen back in the Beor Mountains, following their trail.

The dragon had her teeth bared in a snarl and the boy had placed his hand on his sheath, ready to pull out a sword. The dwarf looked too shocked to do anything and the broadly-shouldered man reached for a battle-axe. All of them could be killed by a quick burst of fire from his rifle, but he stayed his hand. These had to be the people he was looking for…and there was something off about the woman.

She looked like she was in her early twenties, but she looked rather strange. Her facial features ware sharp and angled and she had strange eyes. However, her ears truly made her different than the rest of the humans.

They were pointed, reaching almost twice the length of a normal human ear. They weren't very subtle…and they indicated that she was an elf.

'_A dragon!'_ Aeraleth spoke in his mind, sounding awed. '_She is a dragon! Like me!'_

'_Keep calm,'_ He told her as he lowered his rifle and stepped closer to the people, placing them at a dozen meters difference. '_They think we're hostiles.'_

'_How so?'_

"You!" The man yelled and stepped forwards, looking directly at him. "What in the blazes are you how did you get in here?"

"It's a dragon!" The dwarf muttered and pulled out his own axe, "Another dragon! Galbatorix did it…he has found another rider!"

The Spartan carefully analyzed the situation, came up with several tactics to employ and then decided on the most efficient way to kill the dragon should the need arise.

'_Aeraleth,´_ He slowly asked his partner, ´_You never confirmed you being capable of diplomacy.´_

_´That,´_ The dragon replied, ´_Is because I am as ill-suited as you are.´_

That clarified things. It also simplified them.

His next action would probably initiate a bloodbath. That was not advantageous.

* * *

"_Durza. You will relinquish your control over these creatures to me."_

"_And why should I do that, Raia? Your presence here was…unaccounted for."_

"_She demands it. So it shall happen."_

"_Who are you after? The boy?"_

"_No. There is a second rider; he has stolen the King's most secret object…and my lady is most upset about it."_

"…_I see. How do you expect me to disobey when it is her will?"_

"_I don't."_

\- Conversation between shades Raia and Durza, Beor Mountains, 10 days after planet incursion.


	6. False hopes

"_After years of covert information gathering, I have finally managed to reach a conclusion on the several foreign agents in the chemical cocktail added in the augmentation procedure. Just in case Parangosky or one of her pet agents finds out about this, I shall place the Intel-log in separate entries, for others to find should the need arise. I have been having increasing amounts of doubt regarding the creation of these Secret-Spartans…and the more I think about it, the more I think that all of this has been a mistake. We wanted to fight monsters and in doing so, we created demons."_

_\- Mental Health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield, logbook entry 4, 24__th__ of August 2552._

* * *

Eragon gasped when he saw just what was standing in the hallway, accompanied by a black dragon. It was at least seven feet tall, towering above even Urgals. Its armour –or skin, he wasn't too sure- was horrifyingly grey; no natural-occurring material was so dark. It almost looked black…and under the red glow of the dwarven Star Rose, it possessed a ghastly glow.

The thing had a red gem in the place where its face was supposed to be, more than ten inches wide and four inches high. The head almost looked like a helmet to Eragon, further showing that this might be armour instead of skin.

Eragon did not want to be anywhere near it, but as soon as a Dwarf had ran up to Orik with the message that an intruder was pushing into Tronjheim, he had had no choice but to go face the intruder. He had been busy with the test of his skills, at the hands of Fredric, the twins and Arya and he hadn't felt ready to directly attack a person yet.

Fredric had tested his skills with the sword, the twins had tested him with magic and Arya…had tested his techniques with the sword.

'_What is that thing?'_ He asked Saphira, but the dragon didn't respond. She was too lost in a vortex of emotions herself and she didn't even hear him. There were too many feelings seeping through their mental link and he couldn't fathom the half of them. The things that he did understand were the obvious ones: shock at the appearance of a dragon, horror at the appearance of the black monster and an overwhelming amount of fear and distress at …something about the newcomers

The dark figure held a black device in his hands, roughly three to four feet long. It didn't possess any blades, so it couldn't be a weapon.

For that, Eragon was thankful.

He wasn't sure who was taller, this thing or Arya. The elf stood higher than most men and that was one of the things that set her apart from the rest of the Varden, but this thing was big enough to rival her –and it was bulkier than an Urgal, that was certain.

And the dragon…it was even darker than its rider was and the deep, black scales held a certain beauty. But without knowing if it was an enemy or not, he could not freely admire it. The dragon was smaller than Saphira, for that he was thankful. Saphira was two times as large as the black dragon, meaning that she would most likely win in a battle if it came to that.

Very subtly, he looked aside and watched Arya's face for a second or two. Her expression was pretty much unreadable as always, but still he managed to glean off a few details.

Arya looked very tense and her eyes were slightly narrowed. Her lips were pressed tightly against each other, making her mouth appear like a thin line.

'_Does this thing spook her?'_ He wondered.

Saphira hissed loudly and craned her long neck forwards, hate and anger radiating off of her. He instinctively felt that she was going to attack –and that was something he did not want. The dragon felt real enough, but the grey rider gave off an almost inhuman feeling. The dragon could not have chosen an Urgal as its rider, so this thing had to be an elf or a human.

Unless this wasn't the rider of course. This might be a shade, having forced the dragon to serve him. But where did the dragon even come from? Shruikan was black, but he was also as large as a mountain. There were two other eggs under Galbatorix' control, but if any of those had hatched…wouldn't the Varden have known about that?

Wouldn't Ajihad, leader of the Varden, have known of that?

'_Saphira!´ _He shouted starkly, trying to gain his partner's attention. '_Calm down! Don't attack unless we are attacked!'_

'_It smells like death and destruction!´_ Saphira yelled back with equal force, sounding like she was straining herself to merely talk to him. ´_I must destroy it!´_

"I thought the twins were supposed to be scanning everyone at the entrance!" Orik shouted. "How did these two get in here?"

'_Perhaps he killed the twins?'_ He thought, remembering how much the two bald men had hurt him at the entrance. And again, during his test just a few hours ago. They had asked him to do something that was impossible to undertake with his current magical skills; something that might had killed him, had Arya not interfered.

The test seemed so long ago…the twins had most likely returned to the entrance, but where were they now? Had their unpleasant traits been the end of them?

"Who are you?" Orik demanded and stepped forwards. The dwarf was a direct nephew to the Dwarven king Hrothgar, so this rider could not be safe if he decided to hurt the dwarf.

"I would like to know that as well! What did you do to the twins?" Fredric shouted angrily.

Then again, it should not even know that.

"I am looking for the Varden," The grey-armoured rider spoke, his voice marking him as a male. He sounded like a human, but his vaguely-present accent was unlike anything Eragon had heard before. The deep voice also possessed a different quality; one of calm assurance…and a cold, calculating one. They seemed to be deeply intertwined with each other.

This person was not remotely shaken by the sight of a dragon, an elf and a dwarf under the mountain. Who was he?

"You have found them," Arya replied, her voice sounding as musical and exotic as ever.

"Who is your leader?" The armoured figure then asked.

Orik scowled and Arya's eyes narrowed even further, signifying her anger.

"Do you think you can just march in here and demand to see our leader?" Fredric shouted and hefted his battle-axe, readying himself to deliver a crushing blow. "Someone should teach you some manners!"

"Why do you wish to seek Aj- our leader?" Eragon replied, scolding himself mentally for almost spilling Ajihad's name. He had tried to make the weapons-master's comment sound less of a threat by showing curiosity, but in doing so he had almost gave away important information.

The strange, blood-red tinted helmet turned ever so slightly to his direction, making him feel like he was being watched by some hellish spawn. Durza's gaze had nothing to the unyielding, unflinching stare of this rider.

Eragon was certain that these two had come to the Varden to assassinate its leader. He couldn't let that happen.

But he was thankful to have Arya by his side, for his courage might have forsaken him otherwise.

The rider took two calm steps forwards and everyone instantly tensed up, preparing themselves for a violent battle.

Dwarves and humans had appeared on all sides, armed with bows and arrows ready to be launched when the situation demanded it.

Eragon swallowed and stepped forwards too. As a rider, it was his task to defend the Varden when an obvious threat had appeared. "Who are you?" he asked, but the newcomer ignored him.

Arya also stepped forwards, her hand slowly traveling down to the sheath of her strange sword.

"I shall ask one final time," She stated. Even though her voice still had a musical quantity to it, Eragon felt that it was obvious that Arya sounded angry. "Why are you here?"

The rider looked at Arya and took another step forwards, causing at least twelve archers to aim their bows at him. If they weren't careful, they might hit Arya in their volley.

"Your leader," The figure replied with his curiously sounding voice, "I need to talk to him."

Arya crossed her arms and Orik lost his temper. "Do you think you get to meet the Varden's leader after sneaking in like this, bringing with you a dragon? I ask of you, where did you get it? Only the king has access to the eggs! You must be sent by him! You should be very careful, lest we execute you!"

"Try," The newcomer challenged them, his voice dropping in volume but increasing in animosity.

Eragon couldn't fathom why anyone would dare a group with more numbers to 'try' and execute him, but he knew that he did not want to fight with this person. It would only result in the death of the people close to him and he did not want to harm a dragon.

Then one of the archers on the walkway above them lost his cool and released the string of his bow, sending an arrow plunging down towards the armoured figure.

But the rider moved with a speed that Eragon had never seen before, not even during his brief duels with Arya and Durza. The grey figure simply stepped to the side, letting the arrow sail right past him impact on the floor, shattering the wooden shaft.

Then, before any of them could realize what was going on, the rider snapped back and raised the black thing in his hands, pointed it at the unfortunate archer and-

-and the black dragon roared violently, causing Eragon to immediately clasp his hands against his ears. Orik and Fredric stepped back and even Arya flinched. The black dragon was in a healthy condition, that much was certain.

The unknown rider shifted his appearing weapon back and turned to face the dragon. Eragon recognized the action; the man was probably communicating via the unique bond that a dragon shared with a rider. The sheer fluidness and elegance of this one's movement was…astonishing. Inhuman. This being had to be a shade. There was no other option.

And then it hit him: the dragon had stopped the rider from retaliating against the archer! That must mean that the dragon was still in full control over its mind…so it was still in control over its rider as well. This could not be a forced bond like the king had with Shruikan, so this had to be a full rider!

And if he hadn't attacked them yet…what did it want? Was it playing a game with them?

"Who took that shot?" Fredric shouted and gestured violently with his armoured hands. "Nobody has given permission to do so!"

The rider turned his gaze back to them and –completely ignoring the excruciatingly tense atmosphere- aimed the weapon at them.

Saphira slowly shifted her attention from the dark rider to the black dragon, eying it curiously. Eragon felt intensely glad that there was one more dragon out there, but if it was here to attack them that gladness would quickly change into dread.

'_What do you think Saphira?'_ He asked his partner, '_What of the dragon?'_

But Saphira ignored him, staring intensely at the other dragon that, up to that point, had been focusing more on Arya, Orik and him.

But now that Saphira had turned her attention to it, the black dragon seemed intrigued in her too. It slowly walked forwards, not listening to the various cries of warning and distress from the guards, to get to Saphira.

As if the interaction between the two dragons was the foundation for all further negotiations, the present dwarves and humans all seemed to hold their breath and watch unflinchingly.

Eragon watched nervously as both dragons moved towards each other, every fiber of his body alert for any sudden movements. Saphira should be able to overpower the smaller dragon, but the same could not be said for its rider.

After a minute that felt more like an hour, the two dragons touched each other briefly with their noses, instantly retreating after that movement. He saw Arya softly letting out some air and Orik nervously fumbling with his beard. The grey rider still had his weapon aimed at them, paying no heed to the two interacting dragons. Eragon knew that if he were to interfere now, a fight would break out. This situation demanded their patience, otherwise it would only end in tragedy.

"Are the twins still alive?" Fredric asked the armoured man while the two dragons edged towards each other again, lowering his weapon as a sign of peace. "What did you do to them at the entrance?"

No reply.

Saphira softly snorted and smelled at the black dragon's flank, as if she wanted to make sure that it was a real thing. The other dragon did the same with Saphira's neck and like that, the two gracious creatures got to know each other.

After another minute or two had passed, his partner finally broke off the contact and edged back, without tearing her gaze off of the other dragon.

'_She is not our enemy,'_ Saphira explained to him.

'_She?'_ he replied with a shock. He had secretly been hoping that this dragon was a male, so that the two of them could work together to…prevent the dragons from slipping into extinction.

'_Yes. It is most unfortunate. However, we have…communicated with each other. Have you done the same with her rider?'_

'_No…I would not dare extending my mind towards something like that. Did she tell you what he is?'_

'_Only that he is her true partner-of-mind and that they wish for the Varden's help. She will do…but the rider won't. He simply won't. He smells too wrong…I can't stand him.'_

He scraped his throat and tried to get the attention of the people around him. "Saphira believes them to be sincere; they seek the Varden for help."

"She –that is, you trust them?" Orik asked Saphira.

She hummed deep in her chest and eyed the dwarf. '_Tell him that I trust the dragon…not the rider.'_

'_Saphira!' _he countered, feeling shocked. '_If I say that, they will want to lock him up like Murtagh!'_

'_Good. Let that demon rot away behind metal. Tell them to use a lot of locks.'_

'_Saphira!'_

'…_fine. But I will be keeping a close eye on it.'_

'_That is alright, as long as you won't threaten them.'_

'_Hah! I shall decide that.'_

"What now?" Fredric asked. "Do we let them in?"

"Ajihad will decide this," Arya stated, "it is up to him to allow them inside of the Varden or not."

Slowly, the surrounding soldiers eased up and lowered their weapons.

"Alright people!" The weapons-master then shouted at the gathering warriors, "Continue with your work! Nothing to be seen here! Move along!"

The grey rider slowly lowered his weapon, but did not place it back in its sheath –or wherever it was kept. His dragon threw one last glance at Saphira and then followed him as he moved towards them, as it was apparent that they were going to show him where to go.

Arya never let the rider out of her eyes and neither did her tension ease up.

Orik fidgeted with the edge of his axe and continued staring as intensely at the newcomer as Arya did, never faltering right to the point where he almost tripped over a rock, at which point Eragon quickly helped him stay upright.

"Accursed being!" The dwarf grumbled. "This does not feel right Eragon, not right at all. Morzan's son here is one matter, but this…thing?"

"So you do not know what he is either?" Eragon replied.

"No. We shall have to wait for Ajihad to decide, but until then…do not come anywhere near that one. He feels wrong."

"Saphira said something like that too! That he smelled of 'death and destruction'. I wonder what she means."

"Aye…so do I."

Eragon then turned around and watched as the giant man followed Fredric, who seemed to be as nervous as every other soldier that he had chewed out. He was a very unlucky man, to be the one to escort the rider to Varden´s leader.

'_Will Ajihad be alright?'_ He asked Saphira.

'_I hope so. He has treated us most courteously.'_

He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat and stared at Fredric and the rider until the door eventually closed behind them. Arya had followed them, as if she felt like it was her official duty to accompany them.

Eragon knew that she was supposed to be the ambassador, so why was she following this rider? Was she going to test him too? Or did she think he was a completely different being altogether? No…that didn't make sense.

"I have seldom seen an elf get agitated like that," Orik told him. "If Arya is truly upset with that rider…I would not want to be him."

"Indeed," Eragon stated., remembering the raw physical power that elves possessed. They were stronger and faster than any man. "I would not want her to be mad with me."

But he still had the feeling that it wasn't only Arya whose wrath should be feared.

* * *

The Spartan entered a well-ordered, two-story study paneled with rows of wooden bookshelves. A metal staircase led to a small balcony with a table and two chairs, while white lanterns hung along the walls at frequent intervals. The stone floor was covered with some rug and at the far end of the room, a man stood behind a large desk.

The man was bald, black and in possession of a small beard. The air he gave off was an air of command, leading the Spartan to think that this man was in charge of the Varden.

That was positive. The doors were large enough for Aeraleth to fit in behind him and as he followed the elf and the man, he took notice of someone closing it behind them.

He remembered how important this man had been to the group of people that had been waiting for them. The situation had been about to escalate when the trigger-happy archer had shot at them. The only reason that he had not immediately slaughtered the entire flanking archway was…well, because Aeraleth had implored him not to. She had roared to get his attention and with impressive speed, she had formulated a message in-between the shot and his coming counter-attack. Its contents had been clear and he had withheld his fire, saving the archers from certain death.

The broad-shouldered man had entered the room first, to prepare the leader for the coming meeting. While he had been doing that, the Spartan had taken notice of the elf keeping a very close eye on him.

It had confused him. She was treating him with hostility, even though he was about to meet her leader. Not a clever thing to do.

"So," The man behind the desk said and clasped his hands behind his back, "a new rider has appeared? You took a lot of risk in knocking the twins out, for I understand that is why they were not accompanying them. "

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at how sharp this man was. It appeared that the Varden's leader was not as incompetent as he had thought.

Then the man paused and stared at him, eyeing his suit. "Take a seat."

The Spartan took a look at the richly padded chair and snorted in disapproval. "I'll stand."

"Very well. A dwarven runner is on his way to fetch the twins as we speak, so that they might continue their reading. But until that moment arrives, I cannot welcome you further yet."

He didn't care for welcome. As the dark-skinned man sat back in his chair and started staring at Aeraleth, he took the initiative to speak. But before he could think of anything that didn't went along the lines of 'I want information', the large-shouldered man stepped forwards and bowed himself to bring his head to the same level as the leader's.

Then he whispered: "Saphira and Eragon stated that these two are here for our help…they trust them sir."

The man's eyes narrowed and he placed his hand by his chin, thinking his words through.

Neither of them was aware that the super-soldier could hear every word they said.

'_Why is that elf so mad at us?'_ He asked Aeraleth. Not that he gave a damn about the elf's feelings; it was purely so that he might consider her animosity in the coming possible conflicts.

And so that he knew how to unbalance her should a fight be inevitable. An emotional enemy was a weak enemy.

'_Can you not guess? Your attitude and refusal to answer their honest questions were annoying to most, if not all of your future allies.'_

'_Not allies. Assets.'_

"Arya, Fredric, you may leave."

Arya nodded and turned around to leave, but the human wasn't so willing to leave. "Sir!" He said with shock. "I can't-"

"Now."

The man swallowed and hastily exited the office too, throwing the Spartan a wary look before he left.

Once only the three of them were left, the balding man spoke up again. "My name is Ajihad. I am the leader of the Varden. I understand that you snuck your way into Tronjheim –the city-mountain- after having incapacitated the twins, who were only going to search your mind for the truth. Is there any way I can not take this as a violent act?"

The Spartan sighed and replied with the answer that he had been preparing in his head ever since having heard that he would meet the man at the top. "I found the results of a battle, made my way to the entrance of what was thought to be a Rebel outpost and neutralized two obvious hostile elements. The twins survived because they were part of the Varden, but their actions identified them as the enemy."

Ajihad frowned when he heard that. "You talk like a veteran of combat. I am very curious to your origins, loyalty and arms but I must ask something else first."

Ajihad then waited for him to reply, but when he didn't the man continued nonetheless. "I need you to tell me how you, probably a kid, managed to get your hands on a dragon's egg when there are only two we know of."

"I acquired it," He replied.

"These eggs," Ajihad then clarified, "are in direct possession of Galbatorix. Not even our combined network of spies and agents has managed to steal one. It would be suicide to attempt it. Do you see the problem here? Without the king's consent, you could not have gotten a dragon's egg."

He saw the problem alright; normal humans were insufficient for a high-risk high-reward suicide mission. He was not a normal human. "I undertook an aerial insertion, breached a building and battled two shades. I accidentally encountered the egg, thought it to be a treasure of great value to the empire and took it."

"Impossible," Ajihad stated. "No mortal being can fight two shades at once. Only two people have been capable of killing a shade in the past; one an elf and the other a human rider."

He shrugged. "I killed one of them, here in the Mountains."

"The Beor Mountains? There was a shade here?" Ajihad suspiciously asked. "What did he look like?"

"_She_," He corrected, "had red hair, eyes and black clothes. She was a pain to kill."

"How was it done? How did you perform the kill?" The man urged him.

He straightened his back, remembering how he had murdered the female. "Crushed her internal organs, spine and then shot her in her head."

The dark-skinned man sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Then you did not kill her. Shades can only be killed by a thrust through the heart. Anything short of that will just cause them to vanish and reappear somewhere else. It is a painful process, but this new shade will appear stronger than ever. A female you say?"

'_Figures, ´ _He told Aeraleth. ´_Can you take over? I hate talking.'_

'_Then you should practice in doing so. You do an excellent job though.'_

'_You don't understand. I want Intel, but I won't share it. If Ajihad pushes me for classified Intel, he will be a threat.'_

Aeraleth softly growled and shifted her wings, which was something that Ajihad did not miss.

"Let me not forget you, oh dragon. Your part is as important in this as _his_."

Aeraleth hummed approvingly, delighted in the positive attention.

"I need to know if I can trust you two. And until the twins search your mind, I cannot."

Tough. "I need information; I'm not from around."

"I thought as much from your armour. Who are you then? Where did you come from?"

He hesitated for a few seconds, during which Aeraleth helped him think it through.

'_You seek his help. He has accepted your presence without fighting you. Can you not tell him what you told me?'_

'_I don't...'_

'_Go ahead. I shall assist when you need me.'_

'_Assist me now.'_

He scraped his throat- already feeling that it was getting sore- and started explaining. "I came from the stars-"

But his explanation was incredibly cut short. Ajihad jumped up from his desk and started cursing in some foreign language. However, he calmed himself down after a few seconds and sat down again. "From the stars you say…I must admit, those words ring with a looming threat. This explains…some things. Are there more of you?"

Ajihad's sudden change in words was unprecedented for and the Spartan contemplated his next words for a while. This was obviously an intelligent, open-minded man. The truth would be better.

"Our craft was understaffed…and took fire above Uru'baen. I jumped and caught the shades by surprise. Our ship then flew away, but I presume them KIA."

"What is the meaning of that last word?"

"Killed in action. Seven of them."

Ajihad sighed and ticked on his desk with his fingers while he thought about a new question. "I need you to tell me everything that befell to you. If you speak the truth…and you truly came from the stars…we have a large problem. Are you certain you are alone?"

"Positive."

"How did you bond with the dragon? Are you human or elf?"

"Spartan."

"Excuse me?"

"I am a Spartan."

"What is-"

"It is what you can call me."

Ajihad frowned. "Your attitude is more than troubling. You are in the presence of a leader…one in command. You would be wise to show respect…if you were before another leader, you would be killed for your disrespect."

He raised his head. "That other leader would have died."

The bald man shook his head and sighed. "A lack of realism that might get you killed. Your confidence in your own skill might be misplaced, if you failed to kill the shade. Still, you are a rider and you are now with us. I take it you wish to fight the empire?"

"Yes."

"Then we will need to test your skills."

That was not going to happen. "No."

He half expected Ajihad to protest again, but the man did no such thing. Instead, he leaned forwards and started explaining things again. Ajihad spoke about the Varden, their relationship with the dwarves and elves, their fight against the empire and their need for a rider.

"I have warned Eragon about this too. There are groups out there just waiting to get a hold on you-"

'_They are welcome to try,´_ He told Aeraleth.

"-and you will be the center of many political schemes. But for now, your identity is an enigma. Nobody knows where a new rider came from and they won't know how to deal with you. Tell them not about your star-born origin, for it will sew dissonance and regret."

"What do I say then?" He asked, feeling annoyed.

'_The same thing you always say; not a word!'_ Aeraleth replied with an amused tone.

Ajihad was silent for a moment before he replied. "I know nothing of you. Neither do they. Tell them no more than they need to know."

"Who is they?"

The dark-skinned man smiled. "Why, the crowds of course. Do you think any rider would go unnoticed? People will come to you with many things. Problems, dilemmas and difficult questions. It is up to you to live up to the name of the riders."

"No," He answered and stepped closer to Ajihad. "Now I want answers. First: what is magic?"

"Magic?" The Varden's leader repeated with a frown. "You do not know of magic?"

"As far as I know, it doesn't exist."

Then again, neither did dragons and he had been wrong at that point too.

"Magic…simple said…is the manipulation of energy. Magic is the art of thinking, in which you are only limited by your ingenuity and knowledge of the Ancient Language. But whatever you do with Magic, will always require the same energy as if you had done it with your body. If you lack the required energy, you die. The twins would be able to tell you more of this. If you lack any knowledge of magic, your power in the war will be far less than we could have hoped for. You need to learn and quick. Meet the twins. Talk to them."

Magic? The twins could teach him how to perform a magical feat?

'_Sounds convenient,' _Aeraleth stated.

´_Sounds frustrating.´_ He hated those two. In fact, he hated everyone he had met: the boy and his dragon, the dwarf and the elf and Ajihad. They were all frustrating and the very thought of them made his skin itch, his stomach and twist. It made him want to grab this bald man's head and-

He softly shook his head, taking a deep breath. Of course he didn't hate the people he had only just met. What was wrong with him?

'_Are you alright?'_ Aeraleth asked him, sounding worried.

'_Fine.'_

'_Your mind jumped, your walls crumbled. I felt some strange emotions…unlike any I have felt before.'_

'_Not now Aeraleth!'_

'_Peace little soldier. Calm your blood.'_

"Where else can I learn this…magic?" He asked, repressing all urges to kill to a little hole deep inside of his mind.

A new headache was acting up already.

"The twins can teach you some of their words…you could converse with Eragon and perhaps Arya would be willing to divulge some knowledge…but try not to attempt that unless you feel desperate. She is our ambassador and elves are…different."

"So are urgals."

"Urgals are not as easily insulted as elves are…and neither will they hold a grudge for as long. No, you must certainly not insult Arya. I say this as a kindness. And now you must leave. I have more important things to discuss now. At the moment, there is nothing you can do. I will have a messenger point the twins to you, they will take the next step in our…alliance."

"Any idea how to counter the army that's gathering in the nearby mountains?"

Ajihad frowned again, pausing in his words. "Come again?"

"Urgals. Hundreds of them. Mountains."

"I…have not heard of this before. If they are gathering for an attack then…I have many things to take care of. Be gone now, Spartan."

Said Spartan sighed and turned around, feeling glad that he could finally leave the presence of this man. He had learned a lot in the past hour and only the bare minimum of it all made sense to him. His headache was frustrating and distracting and he wanted to be alone with his companion for a while.

He opened the door and found himself face-to-face with the elven lady. She had been waiting for him to exit?

Remembering the warning he had received about elves, he placed the sidearm that he had hurriedly pulled out back again and stepped closer to the female, reducing their distance to mere inches.

Her exotic, strangely appealing face was very close to his and he only had to look down a few inches to reach her gaze. She stood taller than six feet, making her as tall as a well-built man. Her face wasn't the only exotic part of her appearance: a leather strap encircled her brow, restraining her long, black hair. Her feminine shape was clad in plan, black leather and a thin sword hung at her hip.

It was pretty obvious that this too as a nonhuman. Just what had he gotten himself into?

He stared at her and she stared right back at him. Her eyes had a certain demeanor to them…calculating, but not neccesarily cold. If she wanted to appear uncaring and cold, she was not doing a very good job. He could see in her eyes that she had been terribly hurt in the past. Physical or mental? It had to be physical, because she withstood his gaze and stared right back at him without faltering. Her willpower had to be very strong, but it wasn't strong enough to completely conceal the demons that she seemed to possess.

The Spartan reached the conclusion that the elven lady was still recovering from some unknown bodily harm and, after having stared at her for exactly three seconds since he had exited Ajihad's room, she blinked.

Her hard demeanor flinched; so subtly that it was barely visible and he wasn't even sure if he had seen it right, but he still took the moment to break their contact nonetheless.

He was certain that he could overpower her in combat, whether she possessed magic or not. She wasn't the biggest threat to him.

The other dragon was.

While the Spartan walked down the staircase again, he felt a strange sensation near his right foot. It had been there for a while, but it had intensified over the course of the past few hours. It had grown into a form of discomfort and he did not like that.

'_Aeraleth?'_ He asked the dragon. In this world of elves, dwarves and dragons he felt completely out of his place. He did not belong here, he understood that. `The only thing that linked him with any of the living beings down here was Aeraleth. Was his life in the UNSC truly over? Would he be stuck in Alagaesia for months? The battlegroup he had come from _was_ the reinforcements. They _had_ been the back-up. And he had no reason to believe that any of the other ships would come to their aid.

No, by the time the UNSC figured out where he was or even what had happened, more than simply a few months would have passed.

He was stuck.

'_What is it little soldier?'_

He did not know what to do next. Normally, he had a clear goal of what to do. A long-term strategy, multiple tactics or even a back-up plan. Now? The only goal he had was to free the eggs that Galbatorix had in his possession. And that was purely because Aeraleth wanted that to happen; he hadn't seen anything in the empire that justified the existence of the Varden. The only reason he hadn't sided with the empire was because they had attacked the UNSC first –something which the Varden would most likely have also done, had they had the chance.

No. These people were not his allies. '_Where do we go now?'_

'_Now you rest. You have been walking with an urgal's pace for ten days nonstop, without food and with barely any water.'_

'_I don't need rest.'_

'_Yes you do, do not presume lie to me. I do not know what befell you in Ajihad's office, but you were on the verge of murdering him without provocation.'_

That surprised him. '_No I wasn't.'_

'_Must I explain our joined minds once more?'_

He frowned, remembering the whole 'mind-join' thing with perfect clarity. Aeraleth was in his head; in his mind and among his thoughts. He couldn't hide anything for her.

'_I suppressed it. It's nothing.'_

'_Nevertheless, I require a calm place to straighten my own thoughts.'_

He could use a calm place too. '_Where to?'_

'_That I do not know. Were we not supposed to wait for the twins?'_

'_I don't take orders from anyone here.'_

'_Fair enough. Do you not wish to learn about magic?'_

He shrugged. '_It would be convenient.'_

The interior of this…Tronjheim…was positive for his traveling with Aeraleth. She could go almost anywhere where he could go and that was strangely comforting to him, for some reason.

They made their way to the room where they had been before the man called Fredric had escorted them to Ajihad. It was less populated now, as both the kid and his dragon had disappeared.

There was a lone dwarf standing there, his back rigid as he stood at attention.

"Greetings rider," The dwarf said with a very thick accent, "I must…escort…you to…the twins. They seek to…assist…you."

The little dwarf sounded like he had a hard time speaking normal, human words.

"Why?" he asked.

The dwarf stuttered when he replied, indicating that he was scared. "A-Ajihad's orders."

Whatever. He could use those twins to his own advantage. Should they want to delve into his mind again, he would kill them.

Or break their legs. That would be better the alliance.

The Spartan saw civilians everywhere he looked as he followed the dwarf through a series or tunnels. Dwarves, humans, males and females: all of them were staring at him like he was about to kill them and all of them were irritating him with their constant eyeing.

Of course, the super-soldier knew the reason for their staring. His appearance, coupled with his reputation as a rider, made him someone to be watched at all times. Surely some of these noncombatants had been ordered to keep a close eye on him.

Finally the slow dwarf reached an intersection in the large tunnel.

"Left lies a library," The dwarf said, having recovered from his fear-induced stutter. "Right l-lies an entrance to a w-watchtower. In t-there, your d-dragon can…fit." Or not.

He nodded at the dwarf and then turned left, curious as to whether the twins were going to be as arrogant as they had been right before he had knocked them out.

´_What do you think?' _He asked Aeraleth as he marched towards the entrance of the library. The tunnels in Tronjheim were all large enough to contain a dragon larger than her and many of the buildings were contained in enormous hollows, where dozens of structures had been erected. In theory, Aeraleth could fly most distances instead of walking. '_Is the tower sufficient?'_

'_I am traveling there now. It holds a dominant position over many buildings, that is certain.'_

'_But?'_

'_But it is too open. People might visit us, will that be a problem?'_

'_Yes. I can't store my weapons when civvies might hurt themselves with them.'_

'_I will just have to scare them away then.'_

'_Thanks.'_

He had his M6D sidearm, his MA5E Assault Rifle and two M7A/Caseless Submachine Guns. During his travels, he had come to rely on his Assault Rifle for every situation. As such, he had almost forgotten about the twin SMG's attached to his thighs. If the Varden would mobilize to take Uru'baen, those weapons would be vital to their victory. Where pistol and Assault rifle fire failed to bring down Brutes and Elites, the SMG's did not. Though woefully inaccurate at long-range, the M7 series has always been absolutely lethal at close-range.

And his SMG's had received an upgrade. Even though the rounds tore through flesh, bone and even metals with ease, they were still stopped by thick and heavy armour, like the plating of Hunters and vehicles.

The caseless rounds were coated in a 'jacket' that aided it in bodily penetration. However, ONI had managed to create a different coating for the rounds, causing them to adept armour piercing properties.

Without those AP properties, the soldiers of the Empire would all fall before his fire. With those AP properties…a single round could potentially kill up to four well-armoured soldiers.

But only at close range.

He didn't have much munition for his weapons though, Five 12-round clips for his pistol, six 60-round clips for his Assault rifle and eight 60-round clips for his SMG's. Recent developments in magnetic adherence had made it possible for him to store his ammunition without sacrificing mobility or space, but he found his arsenal limited nonetheless.

'_Shout if you need me,'_ He then told his companion.

'_I was about to tell you the same thing.'_

For the first time since having acquired Aeraleth's egg, he smiled. She was the only living being that he knew was worried about him. He met his fellow Spartans every now and then, but most of them were just like him: focused on the mission.

He was a weapon to ONI, hope to marines and death to the Covenant. But never before had he been something more than that. To Aeraleth, he was much more than a killing-machine. She cared for him despite of everything he did. To her, he was a person.

She was precious to him too. She was the first being that cared for him beyond a means for victory. He was not accustomed to that and it was difficult to deal with. But…despite his pitiful attempts at communication, the dragon had refused to leave his side. She honestly liked him and that made her important. As such, she would be his biggest priority until the UNSC could pick him up again.

The Spartan walked up a few steps and then walked through a door-opening, entering a rather small library. There were only one level inside of the building and the room he found himself in was roughly twenty by twenty meters, dominated by shelves with books. His motion tracker indicated at least seven humanoid beings scattered throughout the room –and two of them were very close to each other.

The twins. Magicians…mindbreakers and guardians.

The Spartan didn't trust them one bit.

He moved towards the two intertwined contacts, as quiet as he could.

'_Aeraleth, I got contact,'_ He told his partner.

The dragon immediately concentrated on him and brought her thoughts close to him, bordering near his consciousness to wait for something. '_I can join my thoughts with you, increasing your defense and protecting you against outsiders. But I need you to allow me in.´_

That alarmed the Spartan. ´_Stay clear of my memories! You´ll hurt yourself.´_

_´I follow your advice. I need you to steer me to the safe parts of your mind; your escort is vital.'_

He nodded and concentrated on the warm presence of Aeraleth in his mind, trying to suppress the thoughts that might harm her sanity. Eventually, he managed to create a place in his consciousness that was larger than all other forms of telepathy, allowing his dragon to intertwine her active thoughts with his.

He clenched his hands softly when he felt the dragoness' overwhelming presence. He had never truly understood the scale of her mind, the raw power that her consciousness radiated. She was a dragon, but the vast scale of her mind was beyond almost everything he had seen or felt.

It was unsettling in a way, but he also felt strangely comforted by the fact that she wasn't similar to humans. It made him feel like he was part of something above him, instead of below. That way, he could still do something worthwhile. His effort wouldn't be wasted, as this world was obviously important.

Aeraleth was the living proof.

Once he had intertwined his active thoughts with those of his dragon, he stepped around the corner and faced the twins.

They had obviously been expecting him, as his silent approach had not caught them off guard. Perhaps this was the same scenario as the one where an imperial spellcaster had found out about his approach without seeing him? There had to be a way to spot people from a distance to these guys, otherwise he would have been virtually undetected.

"You," One of the two sneered at him. They were both wearing their strange purple garbs and their hands were not visible.

"It seems that Ajihad has provided you with…safe presence in Tronjheim," The other one added. "He was done this without consulting us regarding you, rider."

"But as it is now, we have both committed wrongs. We apologize on our part."

The two then bowed to him, an obviously condescending gesture that he did not understand. But when he was not forthcoming with an apology on his own, their smug expressions changed.

Now they were unamused. "Ajihad has also told us about your lack of education."

His lack of education? He had had more than eight collective years of training.

"However, we were chosen to instruct you in the finer applications of magic. If you behave accordingly and treat us with the necessary…respect…we can make a deal."

"We teach you how to become a magician and in turn, you will join us,"

Their voices became more pleasant and their expressions lost their arrogance once again. "The few magic users who live in Tronjheim have formed a group. We call ourselves Du Vrangr Gata, or the wandering path."

Ajihad had told him that magic was employed by using words and then shifting energy with the mind. The twins had a group called Du Vrangr Gate, in which the word 'Du' meant 'the' and the words 'Vrangr Gata' meant wandering path, respectively. In having revealed this information to him, the twins had already taught him three new words that he could use.

"Your power in the mind, as we discerned from our little skirmish earlier, matches that of ours-"

'_I believe it was superior,'_ Aeraleth dryly stated.

"- and we would be honored to have someone with your…mental capabilities…in our group. We could teach you many things, like words of power and the ways of magic."

"In return?" He asked them, resisting the urge to kill these two where they stood.

"Why, in return we ask nothing!" The lead bald man then stated with a big smile.

"However, if you would see fit to share your own knowledge with us so that we might be able to better understand magic, we could help you better. Nothing would gladden us more," The other one then conceitedly added. "We are curious to that strange memory. What were you fighting?"

"Cut the crap," He barked, shutting the two babbling men up, "I don't care for your group. I need you to teach me magic ASAP."

Their eyes darkened and just like that, they dropped their façade of smiles. "We are not to be trifled with boy!" One of them snarled, his face a mask of anger. "We were ordered to teach you, but that can be most unpleasant! It only takes one misconceived spell to kill!"

'_Watch out!'_ Aeraleth told him, '_You hold no knowledge of magic, to use it against them would be futile!'_

He took that last remark of the twins as a direct threat and handled accordingly. He reached out, grabbed the first bald man by his bald head and then baldly slammed said bald head against the wooden shelf next to his bald body. The impact was gentle and weak, but it hurt the very bald man and that was what he had aimed at.

While the first one stumbled backwards with a bleeding nose, The Spartan grabbed the second one by his throat and effortlessly lifted him in the air. A mental attack barraged his mind, but now that he had indulged himself in combat he had slipped into a serene start where the attack could not faze him.

"Wrong," He growled at his victim, "Spartans never die. Tell me how to train myself in magic or I will crush your throat."

Despite his threat and actions, he felt at peace. He felt calm. This was what he had been trained for; to gather information, kill enemies and win missions. Mastering magic was another mission and this was a way to complete it. This was what he was good at. He had no desire to train with the twins; as a Spartan, he was extremely adapted at changing the rules in the battlefield. He could adapt to everything safe for civilian life and because of his capable intellect, mastering a new language would be easy.

"_You are among the few that has been chosen, not for your life but for your potential," _The words of Colonel Ackerson echoed in his mind. "_Your superior genes will allow you to strike back at those that destroyed your world."_

The Secret-Spartans were all smarter, stronger and faster than any normal humans. He did not need two arrogant magicians to train him; he would not allow anyone else to train him. He had been trained already.

"Y-yes!" The bald man in his grasp managed to utter. "T-teach y-your…self then!"

He let the man go and the robed magician slipped to the floor, gasping for air as he held his bruised throat.

"You will pay for that!" The man gasped as his bleeding brother helped him up,

"Your brutal force is nothing compared to our skills!" The one with the bloody nose hissed, his voice filled with malice and hate.

The Spartan pulled out his combat knife and started towards the two disgraced twins, but more violence was not needed.

"Fine!" The bruised one exclaimed. "Take a stone, pebble or piece of wood…hold it in your hands and use the words 'Stenr Reisa', or 'rise, stone'. The rest is up to you, insolent child!"

'_Not a child,'_ He told Aeraleth when the two men had scurried away. Why was it that battle-hardened veterans thought him to be a god of death, while inexperienced scholars thought he was a child?

'_Only the young ones can be bonded to a dragon. To anyone else, a beginning rider is a child. To me, you are a partner of mind and heart. Be at ease, young soldier, for you can still be considered a child.'_

He nodded, realized that she could not see him and then decided to try and so something for her too. He was acting rather selfish. She had done nothing but try and help him through tough times –it was time for him to live up to their bond for once. He had allowed her in his mind, so he might as well trust her with other things. When they were going to face tougher magicians, they would need to work together too. He couldn't have Aeraleth shell-shocked or traumatized by the things in his mind in the middle of an important fight.

'_Come join me at the watchtower, rider of mine. I wish to fly with you.'_

He frowned, remembering the problem that came with flying with his partner. '_Acknowledged, ETA two minutes.'_

Zero-zero-seven gave the disgraced and begrudged twins no more thought and exited the library. He would be very careful with experimenting with magic, as an overexertion would kill him. He didn't know of the rules of magic, but if he started with carefully lifting a rock, nothing would go wrong.

'_A stone?'_ Aeraleth later asked him in the watchtower. The stone tower was easily twenty meters tall and broad enough for the dragon to land, sleep and move around in it. He had stored his assault rifle and SMG's behind a nearby rock, at the very top of the tower.

'_Yes,'_ He replied as he lay back against the wall, resting his body while Aeraleth had curled herself up in front of him. '_If I can manipulate this, I can work at increasing its velocity.'_

'_Wouldn't a velocity too great exhaust you?' _She asked him with evident worry.

'_No,'_ He assured her, remembering how he had killed Grunts, Jackels and even humans with a thrown rock without breaking a sweat. And he could do that without his armour too. '_I can kill with normal thrown rocks. Accelerate it with magic and I have a MAC.'_

'_A what?'_

´_An magnetic accelerated cannon.'_

Or magic accelerated cannon, he realized.

'_How is…that…similar to this?'_

'_With enough force, everything is a weapon.'_

Aeraleth fell silent, contemplating his words. Or more than simply his words, as her next comeback completely took him by surprise. '_You have killed for a long time, yes?'_

'_Yes,'_ He said without hesitation. It was obvious to his partner that he had been trained extensively and his familiarity with combat had given his experience away even to the untrained eye.

'_But you are only nineteen summers old.'_

He was surprised that she knew that. '_Affirmative.'_

'_Was the war of your people so desperate that they required such young warriors?'_

She didn't know the half of it. '_The Spartans were unique. Thirty Spartans of the second generation, created more than thirty years ago and thirteen Secret-Spartans, created…more recently.'_

He didn't want her to know just how old he had been when he had been conscripted. It would disgust her and he didn't want her to be disgusted with him.

'_The rest of our soldiers were adults.'_

'_What sets you apart from the normal soldiers? Your armour? Why were you chosen?'_

'_I had the potential,'_ He replied. '_My home was destroyed when I was young. The Office of Naval Intelligence–the military research organization- came to me and offered me the chance to get back at the Covenant.' _Then he looked at the small rock, roughly two inches across, in his hand and muttered: "Stenr Reisa."

Nothing happened. As expected. These people might have grown up with magic in their lives, but he hadn't. He had never before used magic and prior to seeing the proof, he hadn't even believed it to exist.

Nevertheless, he persevered. He would never give something up if he could reach a victory with it and he had done stranger things with Aeraleth.

'_This Covenant destroyed your home?'_ Aeraleth softy asked. The feeling that she was currently sending through their mental link was called 'pity'. He did not want it. '_How old were you then?'_

'_Young,'_ He replied without emotions. He had long since moved on. '_ONI trained me to be the protector of mankind.'_ He tried again: "Stenr Reisa."

The Spartan felt a strange strain in the back of his mind, but otherwise nothing happened.

Curious. That strain seemed to be placed in his ever-developing mind-scape. If he could manipulate and fortify his own mind…could he find the source of that strain and remove it?

'_Then your new duty is not as bad as you would believe. You are the protector of the innocent here too. A rider, for more races than one.'_

'_Back with the military, I was fighting a genocidal alien collective. They were obvious enemies. Here, the only reason I fight against the empire is their attack on our ship.' _ He found speaking with his mind easier than speaking with his mouth. His mind was trained, his throat was not.

He dug into the origin of the strain in his mind and found a strange barrier; a wall that had not been there before. He felt that power resided behind the walls and that power might well be a magical one, created by the bond of his dragon.

The Spartan shattered the defense with ease and dug into the small spot, but he got quickly pushed back by the overwhelming power that radiated from the small pit and spread itself throughout his mind. Aeraleth looked up when she felt the wave of illumination bounce against her own mind.

"Stenr Reisa," He spoke again and then the rock shot in the air, halting roughly half a meter high above his hand.

The power threatened to slip away, but he renewed his power over it and grasped it tight. The rock wobbled softly, but it stayed put.

'_Look at that! '_Aeraleth exclaimed. ´_You performed magic! Do you still believe it does not exist?'_

The Spartan stared at the rock, not believing what he was seeing. The telepathic link could have been a symbiotic process, the twins might have had installed a code-word to activate a lamp and dwarves might even be naturally occurring. But this? This was him. He had, through his armour and energy shields, lifted a rock by speaking a word.

'_No,'_ He replied. '_Magic is real. And I can do it.'_

He felt no different from lifting the rock, even though Ajihad said that magical actions were equal to physical ones. But he could do many things that were beyond normal humans without breaking a sweat.

He could even kill with magic. Accelerate a pebble to extreme speeds and then send them through the skulls of whoever opposed him. An excellent makeshift gun.

'_Aeraleth?'_ He asked his partner and hesitated. '_Why did you pick me?'_

'_What?'_

'_You said that you could choose your partner. You chose me. Was it because I had freed you? Or because I was the first person to come across?'_

Aeraleth had great difficulty answering his question. Eventually, she settled for showing him strange images and emotions, before adding words to the mix. '_I am not too sure. I felt a strange and compulsive need to…protect…and serve…the innocent and the helpless. You were ideal. I just needed to forge you into a rider.'_

He hesitated; hearing her reason for choosing him was very similar to how he had felt in the past. She caused him such confusion and hardship…but she was so important to him. The only thing that linked him to a land that he could never have understood on his own.

She deserved better than him. But he would not let her know that she had made the wrong decision; he would work hard to make sure that she wouldn't be disappointed.

The Spartan released the flow of energy in his mind and let the rock go. There were new rules in the coming war…new tactics to be employed. He would have to reconsider so many things…but it opened up even more possibilities.

And Aeraleth…he had allowed the dragoness closer in his mind than ever. Her thoughts had been intertwined with his thoughts and she had given him her council when he needed it. She was trustworthy.

'_My name,'_ He told her as he laid back and closed his eyes, '_is Maine.'_

'_Maine…'_ She repeated. '_You guard your name jealously.'_

He didn't respond to that. He didn't need to. Aeraleth knew that he valued his name and he knew that she respected his secrecy.

'_The twins will make a formidable foe. You have pushed them too far,'_ She told him after a few minutes or silence.

'_I did what I needed to. Should they try to harm us, I'll kill them. And feed them to you.'_

Aeraleth snorted loudly. ´_You think I would want to eat them? Furthermore: you feed a hatchling. You feed a child. But you do not feed me. I choose to eat!'_

'_Aren't you hungry now? You have been nonstop.'_

'_I hunger alright, but I can withstand it. I am more worried about you; when was the last time you ate?'_

'_Two days ago.'_

'_And drank?'_

'_Two days ago.'_

'_I will not have you collapsing from self-denying.'_

'_We rest for a few hours, then find something to eat. Copy?'_

'_Copy,'_ Aeraleth replied, surprising him.

'_When did you learn that?'_

'_There are many things in your mind. I stray away from your memories, but the longer we spent together the more I learn about you and your mental state. I agree with the twins at one point though.'_

'_Yes?'_ He asked her, intrigued in what she had to say. '_Which is?'_

'_The memory that came up when they searched your mind. What was it?'_

He knew what she was talking about. It was the memory of him eliminating a group of Grunts, right before he had jumped at an enemy turret-position.

'_Two years ago, during a battle on a different world. They are called 'Grunts'. '_

As the Spartan told his partner about the physiology of the Covenant race called grunts, he tried his best to show Aeraleth proper memories of how they looked like, always leaving out the more sensitive details.

She was very interested in his past. In time, when she was accustomed to his mind, he could show her greater details of the Human-Covenant war.

However, there were still many things that he did not want to show her. He had finally managed to form a proper bond with the dragoness and that could be ruined extremely easily by letting her know more about him.

Some things had to stay buried whatever the cost.

* * *

_From what I have gathered, the effects of the three drugs might be a desired one cooked up by Section Seven to stimulate the animal part of the brain during stressful scenarios, as doing so will result in a major increase in stamina, endurance and aggression, but they did not think about the aftereffects and side-effects of adding such drugs in the combination."_

\- Mental Health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield, logbook entry 4, 24th of August 2552- continuation. .


	7. A poisoned mind pt I

"_Raia, I take it that your lady has a plan for you to follow?"_

"_She has. She has accounted for me possibly surviving, in which case she will review the abomination's skills herself. And adapt to kill him."_

"_You would waste your life for her? For this rider? He is just one human. Incapacitate him and be done with it."_

"_I do not plan on dying when facing him, Durza. I plan to cause him untold misery as I haunt him for the rest of his life. But if it takes my life when doing so, so be it."_

* * *

The Spartan looked at his companion while he worked with the rock, trying to get the thing to rise higher in the air with more velocity. He had been practicing with the rock for three hours, trying to get it to do the most impossible things in order for him to learn more about magic. Due to the addition of magical energy manipulation in his arsenal, he had a thousand new ways to change and adept his tactics. But the only words of power –by which the entire magical world seemed to work- that he knew off, were 'stone', 'rise' and 'path'. Not really great ways to work things out.

Not only that, but he had found that channeling his energy was harder than he had imagined it to be. Lifting a rock was one thing, but sending it plummeting through a stone wall at speeds equal to a bullet was a completely different thing. That only tired him out and it didn't even work–the damn thing lodged itself into the wall and stayed stuck there at least half of the time, while it wouldn't even accelerate properly the other half of the time.

So much for improvised weaponry. He had briefly escaped having to waste ammo on ranged targets, only to run into a completely new problem with his solution. He could by no means fight properly without understanding more of this magic; flinging stones into the dark tunnel-system below when there was nobody looking would only get him so far.

If he wanted something dead, he could conjure up a spell to slit a throat, pinch of a major artery or even destroy local ganglia in someone's brain. But to do that, he needed the words that described such a thing. Had there been a word of power that translated to 'nerve' he could probably lay waste to an entire enemy army, but he had no such words. He seriously only had a rock.

And even with the words, he might possibly kill himself of exertion if he wasn't careful. To perform magic, one needed the same amount of energy that a mundane way would take. So he couldn't use magic to stop bullets, as he couldn't stop bullets with his bare hands. The kinetic energy of such a projectile needed to be less than the energy he possessed and if he started experimenting, he couldn't afford a single slip-up.

It was a tricky thing, magic. He would be better off forging bullets or something like that. Either way, he needed to train more. And seeing as he had plenty of time for training, he shouldn't worry about that too much.

The Spartan pried another rock out of the floor and thought of a way to use it as a weapon. If he found a way to completely overheat it, it could explode with the force of a fragmentation grenade. But heating a stone to the point of exploding took too much meat…too much energy. If there was a way of making something explode without it killing him, he would take it. But at the moment, he was out of ideas.

Aeraleth was sleeping. It had been a very exhausting day for the dragoness and the super-soldier did not want to disturb her. Instead, the Spartan decided to scout the city-mountain of Tronjheim some more. He needed answers…and a pretty large amount of them too. But each and every person he would encounter in the mountain was a potential hostile…and he held no desire to have more interaction than he needed to.

On the other hand, ten days of pure marching with barely any combat wasn't exactly the best way to stay sharp. He had fought a group of human soldiers, urgal soldiers and then almost dwarven soldiers. That wasn't the best way to pass ten days' worth of time.

He made up his mind and traveled down the oversized watchtower, heading out to leave the city-mountain and scout the surrounding area. If he was lucky, he would find his way to Ajihad again and finally receive some answers to his many questions.

But as the soldier exited the tower, he heard footsteps slowly approaching his position. Thinking that someone was about to attack him, he stepped backwards into the shadows that were casted through the dark tunnel and pulled out his sidearm. He had left his two SMG's with Aeraleth, but he hadn't actually thought that anyone would find them there. Could this just be another dwarf, wandering about?

The Spartan watched the tunnel as the footsteps grew louder and louder, until he actually made visual contact with whoever was approaching him.

It was a girl; one with the same, dark skin as Ajihad had. She was wearing a fine, yet simple dress and she carried herself with such a demeanor that indicated that she wasn't a normal citizen. She possessed a certain confidence in herself…an understanding of her own worth, as it were.

In short, she exuded an aura of command. This could only be a daughter of Ajihad's.

He watched the female walk towards the watchtower, before she looked up at the very top of the tower and sighed.

But when she continued to walk to the one secure place that Aeraleth could rest, he took action. He had had plenty of bad experiences with should-be-civilians turning out to be terrorists in his low-profile operations and even a simple-looking civilian could be out to murder him, He wouldn't take any chances.

The Spartan stepped out of the shadows and walked over to the girl, overtaking her pitiful walking speed with ease. His footsteps did not echo in the tunnel and he made no noise as he approached the dark-skinned girl.

"Ehm…hello?" The girl softly spoke and hesitantly looked at the entry of the tower, expecting someone to hear her from the front.

He eyed the dress very carefully, didn't spot any electronics or other things that might be hidden underneath it. She had a small knife hidden near her leg, but that wasn't a threat. If her intention was to hurt him, he would find out soon enough.

He resisted the urge to place the barrel of his gun against her head, as she wouldn't understand that he was threatening her anyway. These people did not know anything about guns.

"Who are you?" He demanded loudly, reading his combat knife in the classic outwards position: blade to the front and held horizontal, arm lightly bended and other hand ready to support should it be necessary.

The girl gasped and turned around, her hand flying to a small dagger that was attached to her leg. Then she spotted him, standing two feet away from her. Her eyes widened and he saw her clenching her fists.

But the girl didn't scream, yelp or fall to the ground. She merely backed away a few steps and then straightened her back, steeling her resolve to do…whatever it was that she wanted to do. "I am Nasuada," she carefully explained, "and I do not mean harm. Are you rider…Spartan?"

So she knew who he was. How had she known where to find him?

"What do you want?" He asked, not lowering his weapon despite her obvious claim of not wanting to harm him. Her eyes sprang from the black knife in his hand to his visor, before she indulged herself in a quick glance at the other parts of his suit.

And then her gaze settled steadily on his visor. "My father, Ajihad, sent me here with a message. Do you wish to hear it?"

No he did not. But he needed to hear it anyways. "What does he want?"

She frowned and then threw her long, black hair over her shoulder. "He wants you to know that you are required to be put through a test, for him to determine your abilities-"

"No. What else?" He interrupted her.

Nasuada closed her mouth, tensed the muscles in her neck and shoulders and then forced herself to calm down again. He had struck a sensitive nerve there. "My father is deserving of more respect than that. You would be wise to remember his position. Furthermore, the twins have filed a complaint on you. They claim you have shown…unnecessary violence, ill feelings and a lacking desire to learn. They were furious, you know?"

He had figured as much when they had threatened him. But this girl wasn't a threat, so he lowered his knife and placed it back in his sheath. "Respect is earned, not given."

"That may be, but even though you are a rider, you are still a guest here. And your story has been…questionable at best."

"All humans are guests here," He retorted, remembering how the Varden had been allowed to use Tronjheim only because the king, Hrothgar, had allowed it. "Why should I care about the twins?"

"But is it true?" Nasuada urged him. She was a very strange girl, either courageous or stupid. Or a little bit of both. "Did you physically harm the twins?"

"They attempted to blackmail, threaten and subsequently attack me," He replied.

Much to his surprise, the girl smiled. It was a brief and small gesture, but it was visible nonetheless. "I see. Their attitude has been problematic to many, but few have had the courage or skill to stand up against them. Can I ask you some questions on behalf of my father, rider Spartan?"

'_Who is this?'_ The sleepy, grumpy voice of Aeraleth spoke in his mind. '_Must I scare her away?'_

'_She is the daughter of Ajihad. And not afraid of me,'_ He replied, feeling a bit puzzled.

'_Ajihad's cub? Curious. Are you sulking because someone does not fear you? Or perhaps happy because a fellow human shows interest in you?'_

'_Neither. She wants to ask questions.'_

'_So let her.' _

Aeraleth wanted him to converse with the woman? Fine, it was her judgment.

And her tail on the line. "What do you want to know?" He gave in, feeling frustrated that he simply couldn't continue on by himself. He could march into the capital, shoot Galbatorix in the head and be done with it in a single day.

Nasuada smiled. "What is the name of your dragon?"

She was starting of carefully to get to the bottom of his origin. Very well; he would play along. "Aeraleth."

"That is a beautiful name."

"I didn't pick it."

"How did you get Aeraleth's egg? I thought that the king only had two remaining eggs, which he had kept under the most extreme security."

He needed to be careful there; he had been told that it was the best for everyone's sake that he didn't reveal anything about himself. "I caught the guardians by surprise."

He had caught Nasuada by surprise too, judging by her expression and next remark. "You found a way into Uru'baen? How did you do that?"

Well, there he had it. Driven in a corner. "Aerial assault."

"The cliff above the city? How did you survive the fall?"

"My armour."

She raised her eyebrows. "I have the feeling you aren't being sincere with me. Am I correct?"

She was a sharp one. She was completely wrong, but still. "Any and all information regarding me and my activities is classified on a need-to-know basis."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," He replied sharply, "none of your business. Anything else?"

In the eyes of the Spartan, the girl's angry frown was quite similar to that of her father. Actually, now that he came to think of it, she resembled her father in more ways than one. Even though she couldn't be much older than him, there was the air of command, clever way of gathering information and the sharpness with which she realized that he wasn't going to tell her the truth.

She had to have been used to the political movements in the Varden.

'_Maine!'_ His dragon called out in his mind, sounding quite angry. '_Act civil against her! Nasuada is right, we are guests here and these people can help us in more ways than one. She knows of the enemies a rider can have here and she can be a good ally.'_

He exhaled softly. Why? Of all times for Aeraleth to have woken up? Why couldn't she have just let him chase this female off? She knew that his social skills were abysmal at best.

Trying to repair the damage that he might have done, he kept the conversation going. "You wouldn't understand my past."

"Try me," She replied and crossed her arms, looking like she was going to be very stubborn.

"I came from the stars."

Again, he caught her by surprise. She raised her eyebrows and her shoulders slumped, as if she had just heard the most ridiculous statement ever.

Which was probably the case. Either way. it was not very stimulating for him to continue speaking to her.

"Do you take us for fools, Spartan? Nothing comes from the stars. Only the gods can touch the air that the dragons cannot." She angrily told him.

Silly girl; gods didn't exist. "I said you wouldn't understand."

That ticked her off again. "Then explain it to me rider. Your statement about the stars is vague at best. Do you mean a metaphorical star? Or a place that your people refer to as such?"

She obviously wanted to understand. But her father had been hostile for a few seconds when he had heard about the whole stars thing. Was there something that Ajihad knew, but his daughter didn't? His political aware, keen-minded teenage daughter

Maine decided that he had to take his information sharing to the next level. "My people live on a dozen worlds, spread across the stars. We have built ships than can travel a long way. My ship took fire above…Uru'baen…and I jumped out."

"You possess ships that can travel across worlds?" Nasuada asked him, the skepticism in her voice slowly making way for awe. "Are you an elf that you can do such things?"

"No."

"But you are bonded to a dragon. Only humans and elves can be bonded to dragons."

"I'm a Spartan."

"But…wasn't that your name?" His remarks only puzzled the dark-skinned girl. Eventually, she gave in and stopped asking him those questions altogether.

"Is there anything we can do to make your stay…more pleasant?" She then asked him with a rather forced tone, probably finishing her business with him.

"No-" He started, but Aeraleth beat him to it.

'_Tell her that I am grateful for the things that the Varden and dwarves have offered us and that I would like to meet up with Saphira again.'_

'_Seriously?'_ He countered. '_You want to talk to the dragon?'_

'_Why? Do you not wish to talk to the other rider? Ah, never mind. It is you, after all.'_

_´What´s that supposed to mean?'_ He asked her.

'_Nothing. Relay my message and I shall join you, yes?'_

"Aeraleth says thanks."

'_And?'_

"And she wants to meet the dragon again."

"Saphira?" Nasuada asked. "I see. I shall bring them the message. Anything for you?"

He could use some practice…that test that Ajihad had set out for him had to be a test of physical prowess alone, as they could not know how fast he could adapt to the use of magic. It would most likely involve him running some obstacle course, performing feats of prowess and speed in the process. But he had to be sure. "What test?" He asked.

"Excuse me?" Nasuada replied.

"You said 'test'. How does Ajihad want to test me?" He clarified.

"Ah. My father wishes to know the extent of your powers too. I cannot allow any details to slip, but rest assured. You won't be in any danger."

She was right on that one; he wasn't in any danger. But Aeraleth didn't possess the durability of his armour and if anything went wrong, she would be the one with swords and arrows sticking out of her.

"I'll think about it," He replied.

"Don't think about it too long, my father wishes to see what you can do before the urgals approach the gate."

So Ajihad had paid heed to his warning? The man knew how to lead, that was certain.

And with that last sentence, Nasuada chose to depart. Which was a good thing to him, as he had no desire to keep on talking. He had reached his quota on interaction with people and had the conversation lasted any longer, he wouldn't have been able to keep civil anymore.

'_Aeraleth?'_

'_Yes little Spartan?'_

'_I won't be taking that test.'_

'_I had suspected as much. How much longer do you wish to defy the wishes of those that seek to aid you?'_

'_Until I have determined whether Ajihad can also be a commanding officer. Not mine, but to his soldiers.'_

'_And in the meantime?' _

'_I want to try something with my knife, a bullet and a rock. I have a few ideas.'_

'_Need I remind you that my wings can not resist arrows, much less your violent weaponry?'_

'_Negative.'_

* * *

**Approximately seven hours later, dragonhold.**

Saphira woke Eragon with a sharp nod of her snout, bruising him with her hard jaw.

"Ouch!" He exclaimed and sat upright. The cave was dark, except for a taint glow emanating from the lantern. Outside in the dragonhold, the dwarves' Isidar Mithrim, the star rose, glittered with a hundred different colours.

And an agitated dwarf was illuminated by that light, standing in the entrance to the cave while wringing his hands.

"You must come Argetlam! Great trouble –Ajihad summons you. There is no time!"

"What's wrong?" Eragon asked.

The dwarf only shook his head, his beard flapping around while he did. "Go, you must! Carkna bragha! Now!"

Eragon belted on his sword, Zar'roc, before reaching for his bow and arrows and climbing onto Saphira's seat.

'_So much for a good night´s sleep,´ _She groused, crouching low to the floor so that he could climb onto her back.

Orik was waiting for them at Tronjheim's gates, with a very grim expression on his face.

"Come, the others are waiting," Orik told him and let him through the city-mountain to Ajihad's study. Along the way. Eragon pelted him with questions about the urgency of the situation, but the dwarf only replied with "I don't know myself, Ajihad will tell more" and left it at that.

The large study-door was opened by a pair of large guards, revealing the interior of the room. Ajihad was standing behind his desk, bleakly inspecting a map. Arya and a man with thick arms were there as well. The other rider was nowhere to be seen –for which Eragon was silently grateful.

Ajihad looked up. "Good, you're here Eragon. Meet Jörmundur, my second in command.

They acknowledged each other, then turned their attention to Ajihad.

"I roused the five of you because we are all in great danger. We must only wait for one more person before I can start to explain."

Eragon tried to meet Arya's gaze, but the elf only held attention for the large door from where the latecomer would arrive. Was it just him, or did Arya look nervous? She had her hand on the pommel of her sword and her muscles were tensed. Was she still as disturbed by the other rider as Saphira was?

After thirty seconds of awkward silence, during which Ajihad and Jörmundur continued to stare at the map, the door opened.

Everyone instantly tensed up even more and reached for weapons, but the only person who was standing in the frame of the door was the armoured rider. He was armed with his black devices like always and he looked ready for trouble.

Not that Eragon had seen him NOT ready for trouble.

Arya frowned, but Ajihad seemed strangely relieved.

"Good, you are here."

"Rather slow!" The second-in-command remarked.

The rider stepped inside of the room and his strange, jeweled helmet turned towards Jörmundur.

"Blame the messenger. What's the situation?"

The sheer professionalism with which the rider handled an apparent crisis was oddly unsettling. Eragon reminded himself that this person could not be much older than he was, but the difference between the two of them was very obvious. He needed to do better.

"We are all in grave danger," Ajihad then said. "About half an hour ago, a dwarf ran out of an abandoned tunnel under Tronjheim. He was bleeding and nearly incoherent, but he had enough sense left to tell the dwarves what was pursuing him: an army of urgals, maybe a day's march from here."

Silence filled the room after that last sentence, but it did not remain like that for long. Jörmundur swore explosively after a few moments had passed and began asking questions at the same time Orik did. Arya remained silent and the rider stepped forward to look at the map, his footsteps putting more strain on the floor than Eragon had expected from a man-sized person. Was that armour so heavy?

Ajihad raised his hands. "Quiet! There is more. The urgals aren't approaching over land, but under it. They're in the tunnels…we're going to be attacked from below."

"You didn't prepare for that?" The other rider asked, which only caused more ruckus in the room. Jörmundur delivered some retort, Arya crossed her arms and Orik asked more questions.

Eragon raised his voice. "Why didn't the dwarves know about this sooner? How did the urgals find the tunnels?"

"We're lucky to know about it this early!" Orik bellowed. Everyone stopped talking to hear him. "There are hundreds of tunnels throughout the Beor Mountains, uninhabited since the day they were mined. The only dwarves who go in them are eccentrics who don't want contact with anyone. We could have just as easily received no warning at all!"

"That's why you appoint scouts to guard your HQ," The rider dryly remarked.

Orik yelled something back while Ajihad pointed to the map, and Eragon move closer. The map depicted the southern half of Alagaesia, but unlike his it showed the entire Beor Mountain range in detail. Ajihad's finger was on the section of the Beor Mountains that touched Surda's eastern border. "This," He said, "is where the dwarf claimed to have come from."

"Orthiad!" Orik exclaimed. At Jörmundur's puzzled look, he explained: "It's an ancient dwelling of ours, that was deserted when Tronjheim was completed. During its time it was the greatest of our, but no one's lived there for centuries.

"And it's old enough for some of the tunnels to have collapsed," Ajihad mused. "That's we surmise it was discovered from the surface. I suspect that Orthiad is now being called Ithrö Zhada. That's where the urgal column that was chasing Eragon and Saphira was supposed to go…and that's where the urgals have been migrating to all year.

"I spotted several hundred of them in a valley a few days back," The armoured rider replied. "And I warned you of them. Why didn't you take measures?"

Eragon wondered why this rider sounded so hostile to the Varden's leader. Saphira was probably speaking to his dragon as Ajihad spoke, so he would figure out something soon enough.

"There are hundreds of tunnels down there, did you expect us to guard every single one of them?" Orik bellowed loudly.

"I do not command the dwarves. We simply did not expect the urgals to approach us from underground, just like Uru'baen did not expect you to approach it from the sky."

The room fell silent again as Ajihad made that puzzling remark. Had this rider infiltrated the capital city from the sky? How? And how had he survived landing? With magic?

"From Ithrö Zhada, the urgals can go anywhere underneath the Beor Mountains. They have the capacity to destroy the Varden and the dwarves."

Jörmundur bent over the map, eyeing it carefully. "Do you know how many urgals there are? Are Galbatorix' troops with them? We can't plan a defense without knowing how large their army is."

Ajihad wasn't very happy. "We're unsure about both of those," he replied. "Yet our survival rests on that last question. If Galbatorix has augmented the urgals' tanks with his own men, we don't stand chance. But if he hasn't –because he wouldn't want his alliance with them to be revealed- its possible we might win."

"Soldiers or not, we'll still win," The rider sharply stated.

"Don't overestimate us, child!" Jörmundur replied angrily.

Ajihad interfered again. "Neither Orrin nor the elves can help us at this late hour. Even so, I sent runners to both of them with the news of our plight. At the very least, they won't be caught by surprise if we fall."

He drew a hand across his coal-black brow. "I've already decided on a course of action. Our only hope is to contain the urgals in thee of the large tunnels and channel them into Farthen Dûr so that they don't swarm inside Tronjheim like locusts."

"That's stupid," The rider then stated, which caused the entire room to fall into silence. Again.

Nobody had expected him to directly insult something decided upon by Ajihad himself.

"You will take those words back! I won't stand idly by while you insult our leader!" Jörmundur replied, stepping closer to the rider as if to threaten him with his appearance alone.

"I agree! Come back with a dozen years of combat experience and then you can comment on the Varden's tactics" Orik shouted.

Eragon spotted Arya's face relaxing a bit. Was she calm because the black rider was being shouted at? Or had she thought the plan to be faulty too?

"Expect superior numbers. Forcing them in the open where they can establish a secure foothold is suicide for your troops. Catch them in a bottle-neck and that advantage will disappear, allowing for a quick and decisive victory."

His words were dazzling to Eragon, yet he knew that there had to be a truth contained in them, as both Ajihad and Jörmundur seemed to overthink his statement.

"I see," Ajihad then stated. "An adaptation among our tactics might be to our advantage. I need you, Eragon, Arya and Spartan, to help the dwarves collapse extraneous tunnels. The job is too big for normal means. Two groups of dwarves are already working on it: one outside Tronjheim and the other beneath it. Eragon, you and Spartan are to work with the group outside. Arya, you'll be with the one underground. Orik will guide you to them."

"Why not collapse all the tunnels instead of leaving the large ones untouched?" Eragon asked.

"Because," Orik said, "that would force the urgals to clear away the rubble and they might decide to go in a direction we don't want them , if we cut ourselves off, they could attack other dwarf cities –which we wouldn't be able to assist in time."

"There's also another reason," Ajihad added. "Hrothgar warned me that Tronjheim sits on such a dense network of tunnels that if too many are weakened, sections of the city will sink into the ground under their own weight. We can't risk that."

"So there won't be any fighting inside Tronjheim? You said the urgals would be channeled outside the city, into Farthen Dûr." Jörmundur stated.

Ajihad was quick to respond. "That's right. We can't defend Tronjheim's entire perimeter –it's too big for our forces. We're going to seal all the passageways and gates leading into it. That will force the urgals out onto the flats surrounding Tronjheim, where there's plenty of maneuvering room for our armies. Since the urgals have access to the tunnels, we cannot risk an extended battle. As long as they are here, we will be in constant danger of them quarrying up through Tronjheim's floor. If that happens, we'll be trapped. Attacked from both the outside and the inside. We have to prevent the urgals from taking Tronjheim. If they take it, it's doubtful we will have the strength to roust them."

Jörmundur was silent for a few seconds, before grudgingly adding: "The rider is right. If we can prevent the urgals from getting out of the tunnels, they will be easier to contain. But what of our families? I won't see my wife and son murdered by urgals."

The lines deepened on Ajihad's face. "All the women and children are being evacuated into the surrounding valleys. If we are defeated, they have guides who will take them to Surda. That's all I can do, under the circumstances."

The second-in-command struggled to contain his surprise. "Sir, is Nasuada going too?"

"She is not pleased, but yes." All eyes –and gemlike masks- were focused on Ajihad as he squared his shoulders and announced, "The urgals will arrive in a matter of hours. We know their numbers must be great, but we must hold Farthen Dûr. Failure will mean the dwarves' downfall, death to the Varden and eventual defeat for Surda and the elves. This is one battle we cannot lose. Now go and complete your tasks. Jörmundur! Ready the men to fight."

Most of them then left the study and scattered: Jörmundur to the barracks, Orik and Arya to the stairs leading underground and Eragon and Saphira heading down one of Tronjheim's main halls. But the rider named 'Spartan' stayed behind and walked up to Ajihad, pointing at the map and saying something so soft that Eragon could not hear it.

'_Come little one, we have work to do,'_ Saphira told him and he tore his gaze off of the armoured figure.

He had killed urgals before, but the thought of the coming battle filled his stomach with dread. He knew that the fight would be important, but on such a large-scaled battlefield anything could happen. It would be a complete war…and even though the urgals were his enemies, he still didn't know if he could stomach the slaughter that was likely to come.

* * *

**Four hours later, on the fields outside Farthen Dûr.**

For several hours straight, the Spartan had used his newly acquired magical abilities to collapse all the entries into the city-mountain of Tronjheim. He had found that it was possible for Aeraleth to grant him additional energy when needed, which would be very handy in the coming fight. In having learned the new magical word 'Thrysta', which meant push, the two of them had collapsed over a dozen tunnels together in the span of two hours, after which the Spartan had moved on to the three major tunnels where the urgals would be coming from.

But now, all that remained was waiting for the battle to commence. Which was a grievous abuse of time, as he could easily dart into the tunnels to perform hit-and-run tactics on the enemy armies.

'_This will be our second fight against the urgals,'_ Aeraleth told him as she rested beside him. '_I long to tear my foes apart with my teeth and talons, but I am also worried.'_

'_For what?'_ He asked. The mass evacuation of noncombatants was streaming out of Tronjheim, with a small group of warriors sent to escort them/ But most of the activity was at the base of the city-mountain, where the army of the Varden was being divided into three battalions. Most of the men were already waiting for the signal to be given, armed with simple plating and spears and swords. Eragon and his dragon were sitting between the second an first battalion, a small group of dwarves was heading out to meet them.

'_For you. The last time you faced those grey-skinned walkers, you nearly severed the bond between us just to block me out. And then the only thing that was left was an aggression rivalled only by the wildest of dragons.'_

The Spartan nodded, remembering the battle where he had lost control over himself. His aggressive tendencies were slowly becoming obvious and there was pretty much nothing he could do to block them out. Emotions, pain and pain alike could be banished from his mind without a second thought. But that…animalistic need to kill would take control over him.

He needed to work harder. He couldn't allow himself to slip and harm allies during the fight. '_I'll make sure that there won't be anyone friendly around.'_

Aeraleth hummed with pleasure as she watched a few dwarves approach her as well, holding a large plate of dried meat. '_I will make sure that I am around you.'_

He watched as the dwarves near Eragon revealed a large bundle of yellow-orange armour to the boy. The armour was too large and complicated to be for a human, so it had to be meant for the dragon.

'_Have you talked to Eragon yet?'_ Aeraleth asked him.

'_Negative.'_ Maine had been working near the kid the whole time, but he had felt zero need to initiate contact with him. He had watched Aeraleth and the blue dragon –Saphira- work together on several occasions, but such things were below him.

Or well above him. Whatever.

After a few minutes, during which Eragon and Saphira were getting armoured and the men had readied themselves, the three divisions of soldier started to march.

Closing in on one of the collapsed tunnels, the Spartan noticed that the entrance had been decorated with lanterns, trenches and sharpened stakes. The rubble inside of the tunnel had been positioned that it would be easy for soldiers to climb out, for some reason.

He frowned when he saw the sloppy work. There were a dozen ways that could be employed to kill the urgals; collapsing the tunnels on top the humanoids, for example.

While he and Aeraleth watched the men stream towards the battlefield, he spotted a man and a horse approaching Eragon while Ajihad lagged behind. The dark-skinned man wore a breastplate and a pale sword, but not much more.

'_If Ajihad is going to fight on the frontlines, I will personally drag him away,'_ He told Aeraleth.

'_Why? Have your grown attached to him?'_

'_If he dies, the army will be thrown in disarray. Commanders don't fight at the front.'_

'_What does that matter? He is a warrior and he should be fighting amongst his men.'_

'_Negative,' _He replied and started to explain. '_The commanding officer is the one who leads the troops Soldiers follow orders, he issues them. Without him to oversee the battle, morale will fall and soldiers will desert.'_

'_To stay behind and watch is the coward's way!'_

'_Aeraleth,'_ He sternly said, '_a victory is a victory. A leader leads, but if he dies nobody can replace him. His survival is critical.'_

'_I don't think he would appreciate that.'_

'_I don't care.'_

The sun was slowly rising again and light was filling the giant mountain, illuminating Tronjheim and visibly increasing the morale of the soldiers around him.

Inexperienced rooks, all of them.

Ajihad gestured for him to join him near Eragon and he grudgingly moved towards the group. While Eragon moved over to Arya, who was sitting ten meters away from him and Orik, Saphira stayed behind and eyed Aeraleth.

"Spartan," Ajihad greeted him. "I see that you are not yet armed. Which weapon do you prefer?"

Curious. Maine could have sworn that he had been standing with his rifle in his arms for over thirty minutes at that point. "My guns."

The leader of the Varden eyed him carefully and decided to let the issue rest. "I don't know how to command you-"

"Don't," He told the man. That was one misconception he could not allow; nobody was his superior except for the late captain Wren. "I don't take orders from you."

'_Watch it,'_ Aeraleth carefully told him.

Ajihad frowned and crossed his arms –no easy thing to do with his chestplate. "So you think yourself experienced enough to fight an entire battle without anyone telling you what to do and who to target? Have you forgotten your age and standing, rider?"

"I know what to do."

Ajihad continued to stare at him, but yielded before long. "This shade you have talked about…she will be accompanying Durza. Do you think yourself strong enough to face both of them at the same time? Magic, mind and body?"

"Yes."

Then the man nodded, perhaps understanding. "Very well. You have carried yourself with a skilled warrior's stride ever since I have laid eyes on you. I do not know how skilled you are, but I know that you hold more experience than most of the soldiers here. Keep a close eye on Eragon…" He lowered his voice, "…and on Arya. We can't lose either of them. She is the ambassador to the elves and he is, no insult meant, the hope of our people. I don't possess your loyalty or trust, but I do his. As such, I entrust our future to him and not to you. But I entrust _him_ to you."

He nodded, respecting Ajihad for his insight in his situation. "Copy that."

"Good luck." And with that, the Varden's leader left.

'_Did you hear that?'_ He asked Aeraleth, but the black dragon was already accompanying Saphira back to Eragon and Arya.

Great. Now he had to join her, pick her up and leave again. All while under the constant sight of the elf. Her appearance was unsettling enough, but there was a certain alien quality about her.

He disliked that.

The Spartan marched towards the part of the encampment where the representatives of the four different species were standing and underwent at least a dozen scenarios in his mind while he did so.

The blue dragon growled threateningly when he approached and both Eragon and Orik quickly spun around, realizing that he was advancing towards them.

And Arya's gaze never left him. The girl probably hated him.

"Spartan," The dwarf tried to be friendly to him, but his eyes were very distrusting towards him. "We only had one suit of dragon armour, I am afraid. Your dragon will have to go without."

"She won't need it," He replied and stopped near the circle of racial members, measuring the exact distance he wanted to keep from them at all costs.

"You think yourself capable enough to guard her against an army of urgals?" Arya asked. It seemed like her only emotions were anger, controlled anger and spite.

But he shouldn't be the one to judge her on that.

"Yes," He replied, causing the frown on the elf's face to grow even larger. Her voice still sounded weird to him. She was as alien to him as he was most likely to be to her.

'_Now Maine, do not be overconfident of yourself. It has been the demise of many a great hunter in the past,'_ Aeraleth saw fit to lecture him.

Eragon turned towards Arya and softly continued their civilian conversation. "It's too dangerous."

Arya was not amused by that remark. "Do not pamper me, human-"

-She looked more like a human than many an enemy he had fought-

"-elves train both their men and women to fight. I am not one of your helpless females to run away whenever there is danger."

She should see Helia-009.

"I was given the task of protecting Saphira's egg…which I failed. My breaol is dishonored would be further shamed if I did not guard you and Saphira on this field."

Wasn't that his responsibility? And what was a breaol?

Arya continued her little speech. "You forget that I am stronger with magic than any here, including you and him. If the shade comes, who can defeat him but me? And who else has the right?"

The Spartan eyed the elf closely. Her eyes were serious, yet betrayed a little bit too hard that she was trying to withhold her emotions. Her stoic demeanor was a near-perfect mirror of his, yet less refined and less thorough. She tried so hard to block something out, but she failed to filter that out.

"Shades," He corrected her.

"There are more of those things?" Eragon exclaimed, hearing him use the plural version.

Arya wasn't too happy about his remark herself. "You encountered one too?

Saphira edged away from their group and Aeraleth separated too; both dragons seemed to have other things to worry about than humans and elves bickering. Eragon uneasily retreated to his own dragon, soon to be joined by Orik.

And that left him alone with the elf. Perhaps they could feel the tension in the air? Either way, the following conversation would not be a pleasant one.

"A female," He replied. "Twice."

She looked at him with a blank, emotionless expression and he could not help but shake the feeling that she was being extremely skeptical. "You encountered the same shade twice? How did you survive?"

"First time I snapped her neck in three places. Second time I pulverized her internal organs, tore out a chuck of her spine and shot her in her head."

She lowered her head slightly and averted her gaze. It indicated that she was solemn, but the fact that she was slowly clenching her hands gave away that she was angry. "Shades are not easy to slay, or even hurt. If you are fortunate, you will only insult someone with such delusory tales…but if you are unfortunate, a shade might hunt you down. Do not presume to talk about them like that."

What was wrong with her? "Let them. I've faced worse."

"Your arrogance is matched only by your lack of manners," She bitterly stated.

He looked her straight in her eyes and tried to come up with an explanation for her attitude. There was none. Even though he knew that he shouldn't have to justify anything to her, he still felt like he needed to. "I don't tell tales."

With that, he walked away from the annoying elf. He had better things to do than listen to her whining.

Like waiting a few hours for the urgals to attack. The defenders were sloppy and undisciplined; they were wrapped up in their own thoughts and sank in a brooding silence as the hours passed by. Eventually, the crater grew dark again as the sun left its highest point in the sky.

'_So much for a few hours,'_ The Spartan thought and moved to the nearest entrance of the tunnel. Ajihad, Jörmundur and the dwarven king were all responsible for leading their division and driving the urgals out of the tunnel, but so far they weren't doing anything worthwhile. They had barricaded the entrances to the tunnels with rudimentary wooden defenses and they had actually sat up cauldrons of boiling pitch above the tunnels.

He couldn't have that. Now that everyone was resting in the long lull before battle, they were at their weakest. And the pitch would only hinder him for his plans, so he had to do something about that too.

While dwarves were grinding their axes, men were inspecting their chain-mail armours and Eragon was spying on Arya, the Spartan moved to the tunnel. Occasionally, messengers would run through the encampment and shake the soldiers out of their stupor, but it was always some sort of false alarm.

Every minute they were sitting there like dead bodies was a minute that they could be reinforcing their perimeter, scout the area or gain advantages. These men were woefully unprepared for a fight.

He grabbed the cauldrons of boiling pitch and removed them from their suspended position above the tunnel, positioning them so that no man could easily knock them over.

'_What are you doing?'_ Aeraleth asked him from her position next to Saphira. The two dragons seemed to be very glad that they had each other, but their bonding only annoyed him.

And he didn't know why. '_Prepping.'_

'_For what? The tiny men all worked so hard to prepare themselves. Why are you removing their work?'_

'_Their work stops me from moving.'_

'_Can't you ask them-'_

'_-no.'_

'_I could have foreseen that. Did you know that Saphira does not like you?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_She states that you smell of death and destruction. I must have been acclimatized to a high degree before, but I have only noticed that now. Why do you think that is?'_

'_Remember the war against the Covenant?'_

'_Yes?'_

'_It was a big war.'_

While he worked at altering the entry to the tunnel, he heard Orik the dwarf say something about going to sleep, 'for the night was still long'.

'_Aeraleth,'_ He snapped.

'_What is it little soldier?'_

'_The kid's going to break his body sleeping in his armour. Tell your new friend to warn him.'_

Aeraleth snorted in amusement and then withdrew her consciousness from his mind, leaving him alone to continue working.'

He positioned the rubble so that one well-placed kick would cause it to collapse completely, preventing anyone from exiting for a while. He had already placed the boiling pitch so that he could dose the tunnel with the black stuff when everybody was secure, which only left the wooden stakes. His plan involved having the troops pour into the tunnel with their pikes so that the urgals would be forced to fight in a narrow line, but the three leaders hadn't felt much for that.

No matter. He didn't care for the lives of these soldiers and he had his own tactic.

While Eragon carefully removed a part of his armour before going to sleep, he spotted Arya still sitting on her rock, watching over the boy and his dragon.

It was strange that she didn't need to sleep either. He knew that _he_ could function after four days without sleep, but the elven lady looked as sharp and ready as the moment they had started waiting. An innate racial trait?

After another hour or three, Orik woke Eragon up and then helped him get suited up again.

"It has begun," Arya said with a sorrowful expression.

The troops were finally standing at the ready; their weapons were drawn and they were all tensed up with anticipation. Orik swung his axe around to test his reach, Arya nocked an arrow and Eragon grabbed his sword.

Maine ejected the magazine of his assault rifle, inspected the first round and then inserted the mag back into his gun. A few soldiers nervously eyed him as he prepared his rifle and he felt Aeraleth's curiosity.

'_You never told me what those things are,'_ She asked him. '_You use no pointy sticks like the rest of the humans. What can your weapons do?'_

'_It's an air-cooled, gas-operated, magazine-fed rifle designed for automatic fire of a 7.62x51 millimeter Armour Piercing, Full Metal Jacket round.'_

In the silence that followed his explanation, he started to wonder why his dragon was being so silent

Her answer presented itself rather quickly. '_I do not follow you.'_

'_It's my boomstick,'_ He then explained to the dragon and quickly proceeded to inspect his SMG's while the boy named 'Murtagh' started to explain things to Eragon.

"A scout ran out of the tunnel a few minutes ago. The urgals are coming."

They were silent for a while, but the Spartan did no rely on the senses of the soldiers stationed at the front. His motion tracker was tuned to fifty meters, a hundred meters or a hundred-and-fifty meters.

And he was seeing red dots at extreme range. A lot of dots. His helmet picked up loud growls and guttural speeches that could only belong to the urgals and he quickly modified his rifle for long-range encounters.

He looked over his shoulder and made brief eye-contact with Arya, Eragon and Orik. To Aeraleth, he said: '_Stick close to Saphira and aim for the heads. Don't take risks and don't flatten your allies.'_

'_Little Spartan, what are you going to do?' _She replied.

He did not reply further and instead, much to the despair and confusion of the soldiers around him, jumped over the wooden stakes and into the tunnel. He heard people crying out and then he heard Orik telling Eragon that he couldn't be saved.

It almost sounded like the kid wanted to retrieve him. Funny. Didn't they think he had a reason for jump into the entrance to the tunnel like that? The tunnel was approximately seven meters wide and four meters high.

He sank through his knees, rolled over his shoulders to dissipate the momentum and then snapped his rifle up. The tunnel was approximately seven meters wide and four meters high, which meant that he had very clear lines of fire.

He could see the urgals perfectly; grey-skinned and horned abominations, ready to slaughter all the humans they could find. Enemies to humanity and his prey. A distance of a hundred-and-fifty meters was too close for his liking, but it was still enough. He had six clips for his Assault Rifle, of which he wanted to use three. And then four clips for his SMG's and two clips for his pistol.

And then he would use his new tricks.

The Spartan aimed down the sights of his rifle, lined up with the first head and pulled the trigger. The urgals tight formation and bottle-necked numbers meant that each and every round meant at least four casualties and that was acceptable to him.

He squeezed the trigger and started his bloody work. As a Secret-Spartan, he was a crack shot. Normal soldiers and combatants received training and conditioning that made them fire at a target's center of mass. That was the highest chance of actually hitting someone without wasting ammo and usually, such a shot was also lethal.

Not with the Secret-Spartans. They had all received extensive training to aim at the head of their targets, as that was the only way to make sure something was dead.

These urgals were severely outmatched. He had distance, ammo and all the space in the world to pick them off one at a time. Every time he pulled the trigger, an explosive discharge sent a metal projectile tearing through at least two skulls in quick succession. Each shot meant at least two bodies falling to the ground, making it more difficult for the other humanoids to advance.

Maine continued to fire off single shots, using the moments between his calm heart beating to single out a target and take him out. He had time, but not too much. As such, he would reduce his firing speed to one headshot per second, occasionally waiting to score a triple kill with a single bullet and occasionally speeding up to take out five adjacent enemies in two seconds.

'_Maine!'_ Aeraleth cried out in his head, nearly throwing his next shot off. He readjusted and shot a Kull in the face, before answering the call.

'_What?'_ He asked her.

'_Whatever are you doing in there? The humans are fearing the worst.'_

'_And you?'_ He asked as he felled another two urgals with one shot. He didn't keep track of his kills, but he did keep track of his ammo-counter, which indicated that he only had twenty shots left.

'_I know better,'_ She growled. '_But your many noises unnerve a few people and the battle has already been joined at the other two tunnels!'_

'_Join Eragon and Saphira.'_

'_I cannot leave you trapped down there with those beasts!'_

'_You don't understand,'_ He replied as he started marching forwards. The urgals were confused and shocked by his ambush and had stopped moving, allowing him to quickly unload his twenty remaining bullets into their skulls. Then he ejected the spent magazine, strapped it to his suit as he would need to refill it later and slammed a fresh mag into the receiver. The counter reset and read sixty again. '_I'm not trapped with them.'_ He reduced the distance between him and the beasts to fifty meters and hosed their ranks again. He had made at least a hundred kills with his careful marksmanship. '_They are trapped here with me.'_

'_If you get wounded,'_ she hissed at him, '_I will pry you out of your armour and leave you to be nurtured by elves!'_

'_There is only one,' _He replied and started to step left and right as a new front of urgals started to shoot arrows at him. '_And she would be too disgusted to touch me.'_

'_And why would that be? With one as beautiful as me as your partner, how can you be unsightly?' _

'_You will have to be pretty for the both of us,' _He replied as he unloaded his second magazine into the urgal ranks. Their bodies fell to the ground in great numbers, but his munition was finite.

And their numbers didn't look like they were burdened by the same laws, as they simply kept coming and coming. The tidal waves of flesh were as relentless and numerous as the grunts were in their approach and this time, he was unaided by explosives, air support and mines. He was completely dependent on his own weaponry as he couldn't steal a damn thing from the enemy and even with the advantage of guns, the urgals kept on coming. They seemed unsure of what to do when faced with a single attacker who killed more than two-hundred of them on his own, but that confusion would not last long.

Every single humanoid he shot directly died from a headshot and he did not waste a single bullet. On the contrary; many bullets exited the back of the heads of their first targets and kept on going, claiming second or third targets. But the enemy was coming too close. Their ranks had almost reached the first spent casings on the floor and if he didn't use magic soon, the opportunity would be wasted.

The super-soldier heard war-cries and screaming as the Varden's army crashed into the bulk of the urgal warriors and felt a tang of annoyance that they hadn't taken a better tactic. When you were outnumbered, you did not meet your foe in the middle of an open battlefield. That was a very easy way to lose the fight.

When his rifle clicked empty, he ejected the empty magazine and tucked it away without looking. Never breaking eye-contact with the advancing mass of urgals, he slipped a new magazine into the rifle and it clicked home.

'_Maine, the Varden is fighting the grey beasts, but the soldiers in front of your tunnel grow restless. Soon they will disperse! Jörmundur is furious with you.'_

'_What's your status?'_

'_Furious. And not only with you. Come out of there soon and we can finally fight side-by-side!'_

'_Copy that.'_

Then the Spartan tapped into the reserves of magical energy lying in the back of his mind and muttered: "Reisa."

More than a hundred spent casings floated in the air without causing the soldier any discomfort. The system was right; magic didn't take more energy than a normal motion would take. These empty rounds weighed too little to be bothered by them and even though he had just lifted a hundred-and-twenty at the same time, he didn't feel any different.

"Thrysta," He then called and sent ten of the rounds sped towards the urgal ranks, moving at speeds almost equal to their rifle-fired counterparts. The urgals had finally realized that their slow advance was suicide and they had increased their speed to a full-on charge, but that only made their casualties that much more intense.

The rounds impacted on their heads, stopping many of them dead in their tracks. The projectiles did not even need to tear through their brain to kill them; even when they didn't penetrate their skulls, they caused enough blunt force trauma to kill.

All but the strongest Kull survived the first barrage and still the Spartan felt nothing. So he increased the odds.

Backpedaling as he did, the soldier launched another thirty rounds towards the advancing urgals. When that didn't cause any strain, he launched another fifty.

By that point, more than fifty urgals alone had died from his 'recycling' and he started to feel a bit different. He could feel the energy sipping away, but the amount was too insignificant to worry about and even if it did, he would continue.

Slowly but steadily, he backed out of the tunnel while pelting the enemy's ranks with magically launched bullets. More and more urgals fell to his barrage, but more would come to take their place. They were outnumbering him by far.

He reached the end of the tunnel and then ran out of bullets to reuse. He had killed more than three-hundred of the beasts in his opening salvo, but now they were going to flood out of the tunnel.

But he was ready for that.

There wasn't a single soldier waiting for him near the exit; all of Jörmundur's division had moved to reinforce either Ajihad or Hrothgar.

And that was good.

'_Spartan!'_ Aeraleth called out. '_Were you victorious?'_

'_No,' _He replied as he backed out of the tunnel and leaped in-between the two cauldrons of still-boiling pitch. '_Why?'_

He looked around and saw that there were two separate fights going on in Farthen Dûr: one by each open tunnel that was not Spartan-occupied. The urgals were severely disadvantaged the dispersal of their forces and inability to make use of their superior numbers, But even so, the Varden and the dwarves were unable to keep them at bay. Slowly but steadily, the horned humanoids were gaining ground. He couldn't see much from his higher position on top of the tunnel, but he did see that his tunnel wasn't the only one with a severely outnumbering force. Both Ajihad and the dwarven king were facing a completely superior foe in numbers and they could not hold them back for long.

'_You were in there for a long time for this fight's standards. You have delayed the grey beasts' arrival by at least a few minutes. It allowed Jörmundur to get his troops to better use. But they will not be back at this tunnel for a while. Get out of there!'_

So he had stopped the tidal waves of urgals all on his own? That was a good thing.

The Spartan waited until the enemy was directly below him and then took his turn pelting them with small, sharp slivers of rock. It was enough to cause the urgals to bundle up together and when they looked up to spot him, but used magic to remove that one stone that would cause the rubble co collapse, trapping the horned hostiles for a while.

And when they were screaming for his blood, he kicked the cauldrons of pitch over and shot the black liquid with his pistol.

He had smelled the odour of burning flesh for a while, but he had thought it to be the natural smell of the urgals and not their…well, natural burning smell. The Varden had lit the other cauldrons of pitch to set the creatures alight.

The Spartan was not a big fan of that tactic. Pitch was valuable and could be used for much better things.

While the urgals were screaming and burning, he leaped off of the tunnel and landed on the solid ground of Farthen Dûr.

'_Aeraleth!´_ He called out with mind, ´_Rendezvous on my position!´_

_´I hear you, little soldier!´ _She replied and he spotted her shadowy bulk flying overhead. In the darkness of the hollow mountain and the chaos of the fight, she was as stealthy as an Elite with active camo. Eragon and Saphira were working with the dwarves to safeguard their king, but they were slowly making their way towards his tunnel. ´_I bring help.´_

_´I don´t need help,´_ He replied as he faced the mouth of the dark tunnel, where the many marching bodies were slowly trampling the burning pitch. He might need more ammo though.

´_Maine, the other tunnels contain more than a thousand horned beasts each. You cannot best all of them!´_

_´Watch me.´ _He replied and decided on spending his third and last clip for the fight. The many hundreds of urgals were forcing themselves through the tunnel, flattening their own soldiers against the rubble and sharpened stakes until their sheer momentum carrier them through.

And he shot each and every one of them in the head as they rose from the tunnel. At one point, he decided that the Kull were the biggest threat on the battlefield and he closed the distance between himself and the entry of the tunnel, where he proceeded to shoot only Kull in the face while he punched, kicked and otherwise killed the normal urgals with hand-to-hand combat. They were not sturdy and strong enough to withstand his blows and he killed most of them with a single hit. But they were seriously just too numerous and soon, his third clip was spent too. He had lost track of his kills and he understood that if he faltered now, the area would get flooded and the surrounding armies would be flanked.

If his companion was right, there would be thousands of urgals ready to vanquish them. And slowly, the amount that trickled out of the entrance of the tunnel seemed to make good on that prediction. For every urgal he beat to death or stabbed in the face, five would surface. He couldn't oversee the entrance all on his own and slowly, he got surrounded by the urgals.

He looked up and then decided to focus primarily on the ones leaving the tunnel, moving only to dodge axes and swords that came down crashing towards him. Eventually, he had seven Kull and ten urgals massing together to press the attack on him. But those idiots were bunched up.

Then, Aeraleth roared violently and swept down from above, like a great black shadow, crushing the two dozen horned humanoids that were planning on 'overwhelming' him. Her sheer speed and mass was enough to crush their bodies and because they were focused on him, they hadn't any weapons trained at her.

She skidded to a halt just as he rolled to his side, nearly threatening to hit him as well.

'_You have been busy,'_ she stated.

'_Not enough,´_ He replied. Then he turned around and saw the elf approaching his position, her thin sword in her hand and blood coating its blade. Eragon and Saphira quickly joined them too and the sudden appeatance of two dragons was enough to scare the ever-increasing mass of urgals in a momentary halt.

"Spartan," She greeted him.

"Heavens, you made a lot of noise!" Eragon exclaimed. "Did you use magic to do that?"

The kid must be referring to his weapon. "Not at first," He replied and then placed his now-empty assault rifle away.

Arya eyed his weapons carefully and then looked at him. "Your weapons are not from Alagaesia, are they?"

Clever girl. "No."

"How do they work?"

"Like a crossbow. They launch metal projectiles."

"Can you not kill more of them with those weapons?" Eragon asked, looking desperate, exhausted and scared. "It would make our victory easier to reach."

"Nearly out of ammo," He replied and then pulled out his sidearm. "I don't have enough."

And then the urgals recovered from their stupor and pressed the assault with more ferocity and speed than ever before, breaking out of the tunnel and into the battlefield.

'_I think,'_ Aeraleth told him, '_That we might be outdone in numbers.'_

'_You think?'_ He replied and stepped back, watching the hundreds of urgals approaching them not only from the front, but also from the sides.

* * *

"_How would your death prove anything? It would be a waste."_

"_Durza, the grey rider is poisoned. The most potent drug my lady could find runs through his veins now. I know what I am doing."_

"_As soon as I have found the boy, I will come to assist you."_

"_That is…unnecessary, Durza. But welcome nonetheless."_


	8. A poisoned mind pt 2

"_But that is not even considering the most important problem of this augmentation; one that I have encountered years back without realizing it. It was easily seven years ago, after a major battle that resulted in the loss of yet another colony. A few scientists from an unknown team were busy injecting a Secret-Spartan with some injection…and when I looked at the procedure through an open door, an ODST promptly closed it. I hurried along, but I never truly forgot about it. The Spartans require a regular dose of anti-drugs to counter the other drugs and chemicals in their system."_

\- Mental Health Specialist Sunfield, logbook entry 4, 24th of August 2552- continuation.

* * *

The armies led by Ajihad, Jörmundur and Hrothgar had most likely failed in some way, as there were urgals approaching the Spartan and his allies from all possible directions. Small groups, moderate groups and even a large bulk of a hundred and more warriors were all converging on their position, where they stood on their own without reinforcements.

Eragon was wounded, exhausted and probably low on morale and the blue Saphira was battered and bloodied. Arya didn't seem to have any trouble, but the soldier couldn't afford to lose her either. He was stuck protecting them in the middle of a warzone and about to be overwhelmed. Not exactly ideal odds.

'_Aeraleth?' _He asked as he raised his pistol. Everywhere he looked, were urgals. Dozens upon dozens of them were pouring out of the tunnel, moving through the ranks of the Varden's engaged warriors or otherwise entering the fray. Plenty of targets and they were all focusing on them…which was probably a positive thing, as they would have otherwise charged at the flanks of the Varden's armies and inflected grievous casualties. '_See target primary anywhere?'_

'_Who?'_ His black dragon asked him as she dashed towards a small clutch of urgals. They were wearing swords and spears, but she battered their weapons aside with a horizontal swipe of her claw, during which the beasts were forced to let go of their weapons. Then Aeraleth used her other claw to bisect two of them, before chomping down and decapitating another one with her jaws.

He felt vaguely proud of his dragon. She towered above the largest of Kull and every movement she made spelled death for her prey. Even though the dragon Saphira was still larger than she was, the black reptile had no difficulty fending her numerous foes off like her blue counterpart. Maybe it was because he had been trying to train her, or because of their bond.

She was twice as high as he was and her jaws were lined with teeth that were as large as his entire helmet was. Her head alone was large enough to fit Orik in and her wings could easily range sixty feet when they were fully unfolded. As such, her talons alone could disembowel even the most heavily armoured foes.

'_The shade,'_ He added as he made his way towards the dragon. He was only willing to spent two clips worth of pistil ammo before stuffing the sidearm away again and those twenty-four kills had to count. He had to watch over Eragon, Saphira and Arya alike. Murtagh and Orik had disappeared somewhere in the fight and he couldn't even see Ajihad.

'_Which one? Ours or theirs?' _Aeraleth replied as she snapped at another Kull, robbing it of one of its arms.

'_The dangerous one,'_ He stated as he came to her aid. She was nearly getting blindsided by a band of urgals, but he wouldn't allow that to happen.

The Spartan dashed towards the group, caught them in the back and forced his hand into a crude shovel-like form. Then he chopped the nearest urgal on its neck with the side of his hand, bursting the veins and cracking the bone with the attack.

He dispatched of two more urgals like that and then jumped at the back of a Kull, using both of his hands to wrench its head sideways and breaking its neck. Before the corpse could collapse to the ground under his weight, he leaped off again and landed with his feet on top of the neck of another horned abomination. His weight was enough to completely crush its upper spine.

With the still-alive urgal underneath him, he lifted his boot and stomped down hard, bringing half a ton of armour and Spartan down on its feeble skull.

'_Watch your flank,'_ He berated the dragon for not paying more attention to her surroundings. Then he looked at the charging group of hundred urgals and decided that enough was enough. He placed his sidearm back and pulled out his combat knife.

'_Aeraleth?'_ he said again.

'_Yes little one,'_ the dragon replied as she stepped closer to him, perhaps realizing what he was going to do. She did not sound worried, but more eager.

'_Watch me.´_ and with that, he charged off towards the enemy ranks. He heard Eragon calling out for him to stay where he was and then he heard Arya calling him ´foolish´, but he ignored the both of them. He was created with a single purpose in mind; offense.

The soldier closed in on the major bulk of the enemy's army, time distorting and rippling before his mind as he his mind started to process the surrounding signals even faster than it was already doing.

He clashed with the first urgal, jammed his knife into its skull and immediately twisted around it, tearing his knife out and also yanking the sword out of its grip. Using that sword, he decapitated two other urgals, parried a few jabs and then killed another three of them with diagonal cuts. After that he took a deep breath and felt a white-hot sensation rush to his stomach, his head suddenly burning with heat.

The Spartan then used the sword to stab four Kull in the heart, standing at the optimal height to kill them with the steel weapon. With his combat knife he parried and blocked several jabs, swings and thrusts that were aimed at him. Even though he was standing in the middle of their army, they would not touch him. He jumped at another Kull, sliced its head off with the sword and then jumped off, landing on top of another urgal and crushing its head with both of his boots.

He twirled the sword around, balanced the hilt against the palm of his hand and then launched it at a large Kull that was making his way through the group to meet him.

The sword impacted dead-center on its chest and split its chest-cavity apart.

The Spartan's heart started to beat faster and faster and soon, the rational thoughts in his mind unfolded and faded away, leaving behind nothing but the burning sensation to kill.

But then Aeraleth's mind invaded his and swept through his consciousness like a cold river, washing away the taints of aggression and restoring his rationality and discipline.

The Spartan gave pause when he felt that strange sensation, but recovered before anything could even see that something had changed. He intercepted a battle-axe that was aimed at his chest, gave a hard pull and tore the weapon out of its owner's grip.

He stepped closer and brained the urgal with his own axe, dodged to the side to evade an overhanded strike at the hands of a Kull and then lopped his head off too. With the newly acquired axe, he danced around and delivered death-blows to at least a dozen urgals in the span of six seconds, constantly side-stepping out of their lines of attack and constantly making sure that not a single movement was wasted.

He lunged forwards, threw the axe in the air and delivered four quick jabs to the face of two nearby urgals. The axe came down again and he scooped it out of the air, never breaking its momentum even as he spun around once more to slice at the side of another Kull.

The fight raged on like that for another thirty minutes, during which Eragon and Saphira took off more than five times to take the fight to another group. It was their duty as the heroes of the people to assist where it was needed, but the Spartan knew where his place was. He was the most competent fighter in the mountain and if he could prevent the Varden from falling, he would do so.

But Aeraleth stuck by his side throughout the entire fight, constantly alternating between lashing out at several smaller groups of hostiles and charging at a larger group of urgals, allowing the soldier to close in on them and kill them.

The Spartan had lost count of the amount of kills he had made. Every movement he made and every step he took spelled death for whatever was in his way and his mind had slipped into the greys serene state where his training dictated everything he did. He moved without thinking, killed without remorse and slaughtered entire groups in the span of several seconds. Twice more his mind had threatened to be overwhelmed by the black rage that would cloud his entire being and twice more Aeraleth forced her way into his mind to snap him out of it with her presence alone.

But the last time she had done so had only been partially effective and he was still stuck with fire in his limbs and death on his mind. His environment was a black haze and his enemies were forms that had over two dozen different ways to be destroyed. They were enemies that needed to die for reasons that had long since disappeared in the thick fog in his mind.

The Spartan cut through the ranks of the urgals with ease, performing kill after kill without letting up. He never slipped up and he never left and enemy alone until he had made sure that it was dead. He shot them, stabbed them, decapitated them, dismembered them and broke them with his bare hands.

'_Spartan, focus!'_ Aeraleth cried out in his mind and he turned around, spotting her flying through the air. '_A group of Kull is heading straight for you!'_

'_Keep clear,'_ He replied as a group of twenty Kull armed to the teeth came thundering towards him. Most of them were wearing what appeared to be custom-forged swords and shields, but their armour also indicated that they held some important rank to the urgals.

The lead urgal screamed and pointed at him, while the rest of his group came charging towards him.

'_Watch the skies!' _The dragon replied and proceeded to completely ignore him and head towards the group of urgals. Her scales were as black as the night and she was impossible to spot to anything but a Spartan.

The super-soldier raised his pistol, only for Arya to jump in front of him and dart towards the nearest Kull with quick, elegant steps. The elf was moving right in front of his line of fire and if she didn't watch it, he would hit her in her back.

His finger edged on the trigger, his hand just itching to pull the trigger. The round would simply go through her body and hit the Kull in its face if he shot her, so nothing would be lost. He wanted to pull the trigger. He needed to fire and kill the giant abomination otherwise the pounding in his head would never go away; the burning in his veins would not leave him if he did not kill.

Time, in its ever bending and changing shape, preserved Arya and the urgals in still shapes as his mind raced to process what to do. '_I won't,' _The Spartan thought to himself and grimaced from the exertion. The urge to shoot the nonhuman was so incredibly strong…but he had to resist it. He had to fight it.

Grasping the little spark of rationality in his mind, he focused on what needed to be done. The elf was an ally. There were plenty of other targets to kill. She was under his protection and she would die if he shot her.

The soldier growled in frustration and through great strain and effort, he was able to prevent himself from shooting Arya in her back.

Time returned to its normal flow and he lowered his pistol, before jumping forwards and following the elf as she was approaching the Kull. If she got herself in a close-quarters battle with those things, she would get torn apart. Ajihad had told him to protect her and he wouldn't fail in doing so.

The horned beast lifted his sword and Arya's feet hit the ground-

-and his hand shot out, grabbed her by her shoulder and pulled her backwards. Her shoulder was surprisingly lean; he could feel her sinews and muscles moving underneath the skin as she wrestled against her grip with inhuman ferocity and power.

But she didn't have the reaction-time she needed to escape his grasp and within a second of having grabbed her, he pulled her backwards and away from the approaching Kull

The heavy weapon of the first urgal came crashing down at the same time Aeraleth crashed down on the floor, flattening two Kull and goring another one with her claws. Then she grabbed one of the dumbstruck monstrosities in her talons and took off again, ripping the thing limb for limb.

Arya landed on the floor, elegant as a cat and just about as soundless too.

Maine shot the looming Kull in the face, stepped out of the line as the beast's momentum kept him going and quickly moved to engage the other Kull. He scooped the sword off of the ground –the metal weapon was at least five feet long and weighed nothing to him.

Reaching out with his magic, he muttered "Reisa" and watched as the few scattered rounds of his pistol rose into the air. "Thrysta," He then called and the spent casings all found a new home in the skulls of eight-foot tall humanoids.

The remaining Kull backed off when they saw him brandishing the sword that even they had to train to carry.

Arya walked up towards him and flung him a furious look. "If you touch me again, I will hurt you. Rider or not."

He risked looking back at her. Her eyes were still calm, but the tranquil fury was rather obvious. If she was capable of hurting him, she would be free to do so. He had just attempted to murder her, even though she did not know it. "Deal," He replied and looked back at the now rapidly approaching urgals while ignoring the puzzled look that the elf threw at him.

'_Maine!'_ Aeraleth angrily shouted at his mind. '_Did you just try to kill Arya?'_

'_No,'_ He replied, feeling a small sense of guilt for what he had almost done in his blind aggression. Even though his dragon was close enough to his mind to ease his aggression, he had still been unable to control himself. The lack of discipline disgusted him. '_I saved her.'_

'_Do not presume to be able to lie to me, who is bonded to your mind and heart. I feel what lies in your soul and I am not pleased!'_

The situation was morbid, serious and aggravating –and he couldn't help but feel amused at Aeraleth's choice of words.

But a second later he felt even more disgusted by his feelings. Had he lost touch with his surroundings to such a degree that even the idea of harming allies was funny now?

'_No,'_ He thought and assumed a martial stance in front of the approaching monstrosities, '_I don't take humor. Ever.' _

The Spartan knew what was wrong with him: the only thing that could shake him out of his aggression-induced rage was violence and death. As such, only killing would grant his mind peace from the burning throbbing that it was imprisoned in.

But it would cease _now_.

'_After this is over, you and I shall discuss this to greater lengths.'_

'_After this is over you can do anything you want.'_

He took in a deep breath and then charged forwards to meet the enemy army head-on. He couldn't allow himself in indulge in useless things like emotions and moral problems. What had been done had been done and he couldn't change it. He was here to fight and these urgals were precisely what he would be fighting against; tough, primitively-armed and simple-minded hostiles.

His companion landed somewhere else on the battlefield just as Eragon and Saphira returned to the Spartan's position. Aeraleth's wings were bloody and punctured, but he hadn't felt her pain seeping through their mental link. When had that happened?

"Get on!" Eragon yelled at Arya and the elf took his hand without hesitation, swinging herself onto the blue dragon again.

He ignored Eragon's strange behavior and focused on what was the most important to him: Aeraleth.

'_You were wounded?' _He asked her as he impacted on the first urgal, crushing its sternum with two rapid punches and finishing it off with a bone-crushing uppercut.

'_Nothing serious,'_ The dragon replied as she battered a few horned enemies into the ground, breaking their spines as easily as if she was attacking a bunch of twigs.

'_Can you fly with holes in your wings?'_ He asked, killing another two Kull by quickly shattering their skulls with direct punches to the forehead.

'_I can still fly. Magic assists me in taking flight and my muscles are strong still,'_ the dragon replied.

'_Good,´_ He replied as he lashed out with his armoured leg, ramming his boot straight into the face of a nearby urgal and crushing it skull. Then he immediately jumped back to place his balance to his hind leg and parried a wicked spear-thrust with his still outspread leg. The wooden shaft splintered as his armoured appendage bashed it to the side and the urgal got knocked off his feet when he tried to keep a hold on the spear. '_Take off and spot our target.'_

'_What?'_ She replied with shock. '_Do you wish for me to leave you?'_

'_These things are working together on a mass scale. Find the one responsible, neutralize him and then return to me,'_

'_Are you going to face these things on your own?'_ She then asked him. And then she decided that she would play it higher than she could. '_No! I won't allow you to face those enemies all alone! We are a team, we-'_

'_Shut up and do as I say!' _He snapped at her, not allowing the dragoness to boss him around. He had been following her advice without second thought for a while now and he was tired of it. He was the one with years of combat-experience, not her! She was a stupid child with misconceptions regarding the world and her behaviour would get them both killed.

Aeraleth terminated the link on her end and finally left him alone in his mind. She had been putting pressure on his decisions for a long while and he was tired of it. He wanted to do things his way and not hers. Her interference had gotten him in this mess and her interference would not get him out.

With the dragon's mind torn away from his, he felt the familiar sense of heat rushing to his head. Without willing to, he slipped into a new fit of aggression and rage. The urgals had picked the wrong Spartan to mess with.

He reached out and grabbed the stumbling urgal by his throat, lifted it in the air and then spun around, slamming it into the stone ground with enough force to break every bone in its body. Immediately after that, he jumped forwards and kicked a Kull in its stomach, pulverizing its soft organs with the strike.

The Spartan's movements grew faster and more violent, losing their fluid and elegant air but also increasing in ferocity and brutality. Fire continued to flood his mind and the very moment his limbs weren't busy breaking something, they would start to tremble and shake. Details that had previously grown sharper to him were now also becoming brighter and the surroundings started to shift and turn. Sometimes, the super-soldier had gotten his eyes on seven urgals at once, but at other times he could only see his current target.

A strange, corrupted feeling started to spread through his body as he continued to rampage through the ranks of the grey-skinned hostiles, breaking necks and limbs as if they were twigs. Slowly, the grey vision turned to a vague reddish haze and his breathing was increasing at a very rapid pace. For ten minutes at an end, the Spartan continued to kill everything in his way. His combat knife was still the most efficient weapon in slicing through his targets and that was exactly what he did; using the ten-inch Starship-grade Titanium blade like only a Spartan could. Maine spun the knife around between his fingers at a speed that was impossible to follow for any living creature. In the span of a mere second, he could parry a strike, murder the attacker with his blade and then kill another urgal with a follow-up melee strike. His gauntlets dealt death without exception; the force-enhancing circuits in his armour combined with his sheer speed made his punches absolutely lethal to just about anything. He tore through armour, shattered weapons and crushed bones with lightning-fast jabs and no enemy could follow him with their eyes. He blurred through their ranks, creating havoc at an enormous scale.

Eventually, the urgals realize just what a threat he was. At that point they all started to swarm him; a wave of soldiers moved in on his left flank, his right flank and his rear. At the same time, a group of at least three dozen warriors took their position in front of him and aimed their bows.

The Spartan had just enough discipline left to realize the proper way to take care of that scenario and he tore himself out of his aggression-induced trance. These archers were untrained and weak; they fired right into the mess that was this fight, risking their own men just to hit him. And he was happy to oblige.

The urgals charged him-

-the archers released their arrows-

-and he jumped. Using his powerful muscles enhanced by the force-circuits in his armour, he leaped up in the air and gained at least three meters height. The barrage of arrows sailed underneath him and the black projectiles impacted on the rear-flank of urgals.

The Spartan landed in the middle of the archers and unleashed havoc. Like a bloodied demon, he sliced the tightly packed enemies apart. His knife whirled around in his hand like leave caught in a gale and his body danced back and forth between the ranks of the enemies, leaving a trail of corpses with every flicker of his wrist and every gesture of his fingers. He used his knife at optimal efficiency, claiming several victims within the span of a second.

But the urgals were many and they continued to close in on him, forcing him to take more and more tactical approaches to his fight. The one problem was that the Spartan no longer realized this. His mind was stuck in an endless loop of search and destroy, forcing him to take the fastest and most direct way of killing his enemies. He forwent looking at his motion tracker and forgot about his flanks, focusing single-mindedly on his victims in front of him. Only when he twisted around to deliver a more powerful strike to the one in front of him did he kill an enemy behind him, after which he immediately returned his focus on his front.

As such, the Spartan started to take hits from behind. His shields barely flared with the impacts, but the constant indication of hostilities at a position that he could not see only served to increase his frustration and hatred. The urgals, seeing how their attacks did nothing to harm the grey demon, soon started to attract the attention of their spellcasters.

One such spellcaster, a shaman, thought to attack the Spartan with conjured fireballs. It took the urgal a lot of energy to do so, but his attack was faster and deadlier than any of his brethren's.

Maine was just in the process of jamming his elbow into the face an enemy next to him when he spotted the ranged attack approaching him from his peripheral vision. Without thinking about it, he leaped backwards and threw his legs in the air, flipping himself over just as the glowing projectile sailed underneath his outstretched back. He landed on his hands and immediately kicked two urgals in the face, as he had landed into yet another clutch with his maneuver.

The Spartan assumed a normal stance with two legs planted firmly on the ground and then whirled around to stab an enemy in the face.

The urgal shaman was just about to develop a new spell in an attempt to kill him when, without warning, a black shadowy figure landed in-between him and the Spartan. It had simply happened too fast for the urgal to notice and before he could even utter the words that were required to hurt the dragon, it devoured the top of his body with a single shearing bite.

Maine turned around and spotted the black reptile. Resisting the near-overwhelming desire to lash out at the black monster, he forced himself to remain calm and steadfast. He recognizes that one; it was an ally. His ally. He couldn't harm her, as she was assisting him in his fight.

He took a deep breath and was able to lower his knife, which he had found poised to throw in his fingers. Then he attempted to contact the dragon, whose name quickly followed after the realization of her allegiance. Slowly returning to a rational state, he managed to overcome the near animalistic desire to fight and slowly extend a tendril of thoughts to the dragon.

She ignored his attempts to contact her and slashed at a group of urgals, hacking through their rudimentary armour with ease.

A Kull standing a few meters away from him raised a throwing axe, but he didn't allow the creature to finish his attack. He covered the distance between him and the towering hostile with two steps and grabbed the monster's wrist, increasing his grip to pulverize the bones.

The Kull bellowed in pain and rage and, much to the Spartan's surprise, raised his other hand to punch him in his visor.

Of course that attack never connected, as the Spartan quickly positioned his body at such a position that the monster had to spin more than hundred-eighty degrees to get to him and by that time, the armoured soldier simply pinned the grey humanoid's elbow down with his own elbow and shattered that it. The Kull roared with pain, but the sudden pressure and destruction of its elbow-joint had forced it to its knees, where it proceeded to bring its head to bear instead of its center of mass. Maine wasn't one to resist such a target when it was offered to him and quickly punched the urgal in the face with a lightning-fast hook, hearing a satisfying crunch as the head snapped sideways.

Then he retrieved the throwing axe, one second after the urgal had attempted to punch him, aimed it at another Kull about to storm Aeraleth and threw it, splitting its skull in half with the weapon.

The Spartan then covered the remaining twenty meters between him and his dragon in mere seconds, killing the black-blooded urgals that were stupid enough to stand between him and his ally without breaking stride. He arrived just in time to prevent a Kull to slash at the dragon's wing with a battle-axe and rammed a knee into its ribcage, killing it instantly by pulverizing its heart and lungs

He attempted to contact Aeraleth again and this time, put a little bit more urgency behind his shout.

'_Let us make one thing clear,'_ a feminine voice then told him with a tone that made it very, _very _clear to the Spartan that she was royally pissed off. Even though she still sounded more like a teenage girl in his head, there was still something else present. A certain effect in her voice that made her sound more royal and convincing than any officer could ever hope to aspire. He disliked the compelling effect of her voice. His body was ready to obey her will without thinking about it and that gave the dragoness so much control over him. '_I am NOT yours to command. You might have more experience than I do, but I am so much more than simply your ally in combat. You have no right to tell me what to do and I will not have it!'_

Maine was more disturbed by the fact that he kept losing his cool in the fight with ever-increasing frequencies than the dragon being upset with him, but he knew where his priorities lay. If the bond between him and Aeraleth ran so deep that even his body was completely ensnared in it, he couldn't afford to anger her like that. His body was bound to her body like his mind was bound to her mind. He knew that he had no choice but to force himself to act without animosity against her but it felt so forced…so compulsive. He wasn't capable of talking to her like a civilian would, as she expected of him. It wasn't who he was –it wasn't _what_ he was.

'_I am here to free those two eggs for you, but nothing more. I want to return to the UNSC and to do so I will finish these fights ASAP. I expect you to follow my lead.'_

'_You still wish to escape your fate? I chose you from my egg because I knew that you were worthy of becoming a rider. You are here now, you have a destiny. It is foolish to try and escape it.'_

She was right. He knew that and she knew that…and he hated it. He was stuck on this world with magic, elves and dwarves and there was no returning to the UNSC for him. The mission to recover Math had been a disaster…the random trajectory that the _When Duty Ends_ had been forced into had thrown him into a completely new conflict. But this wasn't how he wanted to live; he wanted to remain with the UNSC and fight for humanity. He wanted to destroy all that remained of the Covenant and make sure that the Flood was gone forever. Then and only then could he res. But until then, his purpose was to protect mankind.

His thoughts must have been a bit too close to the surface, as Aeraleth took a gentler tone and tried to comfort him, despite her initial anger with him. '_Be calm Maine, there are humans here. You can still protect them, even though your initial duty has burned away. You hold a new duty here. Focus now, for we have long to go.'_

He grunted in reply and backed up against the dragoness, the last remnants of the black fog in his mind clearing up, allowing him to analyze the battlefield with serene clarity. The urgals around them were slowly creeping backwards, creating a large circle around them in doing so.

The Spartan raised his pistol –having only spent half a clip during the fight- and tried to spot the reason for the hostiles to retreat like that.

Aeraleth suddenly hissed in anger and he felt a stab of fear running through their link. She quickly informed him of what had disturbed her by sending a smell through their mental link, but he couldn't understand what she meant with it. He simply lacked the senses to translate the otherwise nonsensical message.

'_What's wrong?'_ He asked and scanned his surroundings for a change in the fight. The answer presented itself pretty quickly when he spotted a row of urgals parting near the back of their formation, allowing a person to step through their ranks unopposed.

Aeraleth did not answer him, instead choosing to send him a garbled collection of emotions and smells. He still didn't understand a damn thing, but the intention was crystal-clear to him: she was afraid. Honestly so.

And he had the feeling that the cause of her fears was currently walking calmly through the ranks of the urgals, heading towards him and his companion with the composed confidence that could only fit an officer in command.

The leader of this invasive force was currently heading out to meet them, Maine was sure of that.

The two tallest Kull at the front of the lines, roughly ten meters away from him, stepped aside and allowed the previously unseen person to step into the clearing.

It was the shade, Raia. She was clad in a dark outfit that held a small cape around her shoulders, which ended at a point below her knees. She had leather gauntlets and a piece of trimmed, black armour that stopped at a point above her naval, where a slit of white skin was clearly visible. Her elegant legs were completely bare, showing the extremely pale skin to an even greater degree. A pair of leather boots that reached all the way to her knees shrouded her feet and the Spartan could immediately see that, while they were designed with intimidation and domination in mind, they also protected the wearer without compromising security. Whoever had designed her outfit had a pretty good idea where the line between useful and pleasant lay.

"Rider," She said, her soft voice sounding rather inaudible when compared to the raging fights around them.

He raised his pistol at her head and was about to pull the trigger when the shade did something that made him stay his hand.

The female shade eyed his weapon with suspicion and her eyes narrowed, the red irises appearing even more inhuman as she did so. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Not if you want young Eragon to live." Her voice didn't sound as exotic as Arya's did, but it possessed the same manipulating edge that Aeraleth had. That fact was not lost on the Spartan.

Her words were enough to prevent him from blowing her brains out. Eragon had disappeared with Saphira and Arya to some unmentioned place on the battlefield. The boy might become overwhelmed with fear, but both his dragon as the elf would not let that happen. He hadn't fled from the battle; he had to have gone somewhere else. So what did she mean?

"Where is he?" He calmly replied without lowering his gun.

"Somewhere in the dwarves' pitiful city-mountain, at Durza's mercy."

Durza, the shade that had been hunting Eragon and Saphira? The shade that had some history with Arya? Why would Eragon be fighting him? He had a priority on the battlefield, so why –unless Durza was the one responsible for gathering all these urgals under one banner. If the boy had gone off to face that man, he wouldn't be alone. Arya and the dragon would be with him.

"Why should I believe you?" He asked her.

"You can ask your dragon. Those creatures always take pleasure in keeping secrets."

'_Aeraleth?'_ He dared to ask his companion with his mind, but he never took his eyes off of the shade. '_What does she mean?'_

Aeraleth uncomfortably shifted her wings and then replied without shame or hesitation. '_While you were fighting those urgals, I communicated with Saphira. The twins, who were in constant contact with Eragon, had told him that a breach was happening in the dwarf-den. They asked him to deal with it, but then she got wounded. Arya stayed behind with her at the dragonhold to heal her while Eragon went down to fight off the invading urgals.'_

He cursed under his breath. There wasn't any need to ask her why she hadn't told him that sooner, because he hadn't exactly been unoccupied. But still, why wouldn't Eragon discuss that with other people? Not that he would have given a damn, but the idea of the young rider running around on his own simply smelled like one big trap. Someone had been feeding the twins a line of nonsense –or the twins had been leading Eragon that nonsense. Could their spite and grudge be so big that they wanted to harm him and the Varden's future to such degree?

"Why doesn't Durza kill him?" He asked.

The shade's eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly, as if she was surprised. But that expression didn't last long and after about a second of open reaction at his words, her face reassumed its normal calculating features. "Because…the king…needs the rider and his dragon alive."

That made sense. If this Galbatorix could break Eragon's mind, he had one more powerful and faithful servant to command. But why chase after Eragon and not him? Not that he minded that, but the reason was lost on him. Why didn't the king aim for the both of them?

"So why should I be worried about anything?" He replied. If the king wanted Eragon alive, the Varden had a major tactical advantage. It was notoriously harder to capture someone alive rather than killing them.

"Because the king can choose between two servants. He would like for both of them to serve him, but he also knows that that cannot happen. He gets one and my lady gets one. Durza can kill the boy and I can capture you, or I can kill you and he can capture the boy."

"Why not capture both of us?" He asked.

"Because this situation is not favorable. I am confident that I can beat you, but I will not risk a thing. Lower your weapon or I shall signal Durza to kill the boy."

Her logic was flawed. He didn't care for Eragon and as soon as he pulled the trigger, she would be dead too. Then nobody would capture him and the king's plans would be in disarray. This shade hadn't thought it through –why hadn't she thought it through? "One problem," He then stated.

"What?" She replied.

This was a bluff. Durza would not kill Eragon and she had tried to kill Aeraleth before. As such, this entire plan of hers did not make sense. "I don't care if you kill him."

And then he pulled the trigger three times, sending three rounds tearing through the air in a race to the shade's head.

But the redhead moved out of the way –faster than she had ever moved before. Her body twisted to the side with a speed that rivalled a Spartan and then she headed for him, pulling out a long black sword that ended in a wicked curve.

At the same time, the mass of urgals charged at Aeraleth. She sought to either force him to surrender by harming his dragon or simply putting too much pressure on him by forcing him to defend Aeraleth while fending her off.

Once again, one thing was wrong with that otherwise powerful checkmate: he was perfectly capable of protecting his dragon while fighting the shade.

He placed his pistol back, as it would only serve to hinder him in what was going to be a full-on melee brawl.

'_Aeraleth, fly!'_ He ordered.

'_I will never leave your side, little soldier. I will not see you becoming this one's toy.'_

Did that imply she did want to see him becoming someone else's toy?

The shade reached him and lashed out at him with her sword, showing a remarkable knowledge of martial arts as her stance remained completely unfazed by the powerful lunging attack. Her rear leg was straight, but not locked and her front leg was slightly bowed. Both of her feet were aiming at him and she had her balance perfectly in order. This would not be an easy opponent to fight in close-combat, he was sure of that.

And to make matters worse for him, this shade knew too many things to simply let go. The reveal of the Varden, magic and elves had taught a great many things and he would need as much additional Intel as he could get. This one was a perfect source of information and killing her would be a waste.

He intercepted the sword-blow with his left forearm and immediately moved to punch her in her stomach with the other, but the heavy steel impacted on his arm with much more force than he had accounted for and he felt his shielding drain twenty percent.

The last time he had been hit in the face by the punch of a Hunter, it had taken fifty percent off. A brute could take thirty percent off. This shade was about as strong as a brute was and fast enough to dodge bullets, but was she also as disciplined and focused?

Before his fist could impact on her abdomen, she positioned her hind-leg forty-five degrees to the side and turned her slender hips away, forcing him to barely miss her. He had not been as foolish as to throw his weight behind the punch, as that would only serve to unbalance him. No, he had not given the shade an opening to work with. He had however, given her an opportunity.

And she took that without hesitation. She didn't stop twisting her hips and performed a whole rotation, bringing her sword to bear on his neck.

The Spartan didn't full-on block the strike however and leaned backwards, allowing the stainless steel to sail past him without harming him. Then he reached out and tried to snatch the blade out of her hands, but she stepped forwards and tried to slam her knee into his stomach, which he only managed to avoid by completely side-stepping her person, bringing himself at her side. Then he aimed at grabbing her by her throat, but she was too fast for that and leaped to the side, whispering a word in the process.

A storm of fire appeared around him and he instantly felt the internal temperature of his suit rising a few degrees. But before the fire could drain more than ten percent of his shields, he jumped into the air and used his powerful legs to launch him through the red torrent of flames. If she wanted to use magic, he could play with her.

'_Aeraleth, close your eyes!'_ He ordered the dragon and immediately followed up with an audible word: "Garjzla!"

The word had to directly translate to either light or heat, as the twins had used it to generate a hovering light. As such, he too could use it to produce light. And if he focused on purely sending out light and not heat, he wouldn't even waste too much energy.

Tapping into the supply of power, he combined the streaming energy in his mind with the idea of what he wanted to reach with the light. The result of that combination of effort presented itself rather quickly; a flash of the brightest intensity flared through the cavernous mountain, blinding the urgals and probably the shade too.

The Spartan had his eyes closed at the time of the discharge and wasn't fazed in the least by the sudden use of magic. He had effectively blinded all his enemies and with that, created some breathing room for his dragon.

The Shade scowled at his tactics and stepped backwards, muttering a word in the ancient language that even he could not decipher. Then she opened her eyes and stared directly at him, showing that she had somehow recovered from his magical assault.

He shook his head and moved to intercept her once more, ignoring the various stumbling and blinded urgals that were attempting to feel their way to their enemy. One of them got too close to him and he promptly killed it with his combat knife, without allowing himself to be redirected from his initial target.

Raia somehow managed to use that half second he used to kill the urgal to close in on him, throwing an palm thrust at his chin.

He side-stepped her attack and brought his knife down to her spine, but the shade spun around faster than the knife could descent and while his blade hacked through empty space, the shade slammed a leg into his helmet, knocking another fifteen percent off of his shield and setting him up for another attack. Said other attack involved her spinning around his back and then trying to swipe his legs away from underneath his body. His stance, however, was too wide and her body didn't hold enough power to knock him down. Her leg came to a hold against his and he used that opening in return to lash out with his elbow, intent on knocking her out.

Aeraleth meanwhile was pounding away at the urgals around her. She snapped their spines with her tail, ripped them apart with her claws and dismembered them with her jaws. Each and every movement of her powerful limbs meant another casualty for Raia's army. But they were too numerous for the mighty dragon to handle and because she couldn't even breathe fire, she was stuck with beating armed enemies to death while risking getting skewered in turn. And slowly but steadily, as the Spartan and the Shade fought their duel, the dragon's considerable defense was getting whittled down by dozens of strikes at her body. Swords bounced off of her thick scales, axes struck at her armoured sides and arrows penetrated her wings but she did not yield to the enemy.

As Raia and Maine fought their lethal dance together, the shade's facial expression slowly turned to a mixture of anger and something that the Spartan could not completely comprehend.

Her gestures and attacks with her sword increased in frequency and ferocity but lost their elegance and fluency, while his attacks were picking up a gracious pattern that only served to augment and bolster his speed. The super-soldier found that the shade was still not nearly as fast in processing the fight as he was. She might move her limbs with a speed that rivalled an unarmoured Spartan, but she lacked the cognitive ability to comprehend the moves.

And as their blades clashed together with ever increasing speed, Maine came to understand that one slip-up for the shade would mean defeat for her, while a slip-up on his side would only mean adaptation and improvisation. She could not beat him in close-combat and she knew that.

She jabbed at his ribs and he blocked her strike, battering the black sword with his equally black knife. The starship-grade metal alloy in his blade allowed him to perform feats that would shatter other blades and because it lacked the cumbersome length of a sword, he was capable of doing so much more than the shade ever could. She moved her sword again, aiming at his head with a horizontal sweep reminiscent of an Elite swinging his energy-sword. He stepped back, allowed the sword to pass by his torso and then struck at her again, slashing at her gut with his knife.

The shade blocked the attack, nearly lost her balance at the power that lay behind it and then stepped back. At that point, the urgals had split up in two large groups: one to attack Aeraleth and one to attack him. It annoyed him greatly that he had to break up his own moves to counter the mass of hostiles that sought to disturb him. He had shaken the overly-aggressive nature of his mind off and he was able to move even faster because of it. No urgal was able to touch him and as he continued to exchange dozens of blows with the shade at a speed that only they could follow, he also broke their contact off every few hits to murder an urgal that came to close to him. He combined the attacks that he aimed at the Shade to counter the ones that were aimed at him and in turn, she used the attacks that the urgals threw at him in an attempt to overcome him.

"Why?" She sneered at him and blocked a knife-thrust. "Why did you side with the Varden? I can feel it in you; you are not like them!"

He ignored her and increased the speed with which he struck, chaining half a dozen of slashes at her chest within a second, crushing her resistance and slicing a large gash in her armour. He was so focused on her that the other targets near him became a blur, only to be interacted with when they came too close.

And then a sharp stab of pain ran through his legs and he nearly faltered in his attack, almost like the tendons in his legs had been severed.

"Aeraleth?" He said aloud and turned around to look at his dragon, breaking both the concentration that he had built up to deal with the shade as perhaps the greatest rule of close-combat, looking away from his enemy.

The dragon had been unaware of an attack on her flank and because of that, two Kull had managed to land a crushing blow on one of her hind legs. Blood poured out of two large open wounds on her leg even as she spun around to disembowel them with her claws.

'_I am fine, do not worry about me!´_ She cried back, struggling to keep the pain out of her voice. She failed miserably.

The Spartan turned back to Raia, half expecting a new impact at his head for that momentary slip of concentration. But she did not use the opening in combat. Instead, she was looking at the dragon with a strange look in her eyes.

So he took the opening that had been created and lashed out with his fist, landing a blow on her stomach so fast that she couldn't even register that she had been hit until the pain hit her.

Unfortunately, she wasn't the only one who was suddenly overcome by a nasty sensation. A jolt of chilling pain impacted on his ribs and he hissed through his teeth as the sensation racked not only his breathing, but also his mind. At the same time, a high-pitched roar reverberated through the cavern and he launched a follow-up kick at the shades side, knocking her into the ranks of the urgals.

And then he spun around, pulled his pistol out and emptied the half-full clip. Six hostiles, a combination of Kull and urgals, fell to the ground with spurts of black blood leaking out of their skulls and as soon as they toppled, he was able to see what had happened to Aeraleth. Two gashes ran across the side of her chest, looking like a cross. A very thin sword stuck out of that breach in her scales, looking as if it had been inserted at least a foot into her ribs.

He knew that the pain must be agonizing for Aeraleth, as he was unable to immediately block the near-paralyzing pain out of his body at first. She had been stabbed between her ribs and the only reason that she was still standing was because her heart had been missed. She had been extremely lucky, but that didn't place her out of the way of death. She could die by internal bleeding, she could die by shock or blood loss or she could die because her attention was aimed at her own wounds instead of her environment.

She could die and that was the most important thing to him. '_Can you fly?'_ He frantically called at her, but she was barely able to form a comprehensive reply because of her pain.

And whatever she had wanted to say to him was lost in a sudden haze as the Shade launched her very first mental assault on him, during which he sacrificed whatever time he had left to form a proper defense to carefully block Aeraleth out first, as he did not want her to suffer what was about to go down in his mind: the consciousness of the Shade was dark, deep and alien. If the mind of Aeraleth could be compared to a bottomless blue lake bordering on a mountain-range, Raia's mind could be compared to a dark, stormy ocean that only housed lurking monsters. He couldn't feel where her mind ended and where his own mind began and he was only capable of throwing up a thick wall to block her out while he got a feel on his situation.

And that wasn't even considering the scale of her attack; the twins had only been able to stick a single barbed blade into his mind, but Raia was capable of impaling him with easily a dozen burning and twisting blades –all of which outclassed the two bald idiots attack on their own. Her entire consciousness rammed against his defenses as his brain struggled to even comprehend her proximity. There was an entire landscape hidden inside her mind; dark, complicated and too strange to understand. It was nothing compared to the simple minds of both of the twins, as he had been able to comprehend them after a brief struggle. But this? There was no way he could work with this. Her mind was simply too…alien…for him.

* * *

The human squirmed underneath Raia's attack and she hissed with hatred as she turned and twisted the probes that had been extended by her superior mind. She hated the human. She hated him and all that he represented. He and his kind, always surrounding themselves with things that they cared for. Always seeking that which gave them courage and love, making their live meaningful. The kind that she had once belonged to, before that…that _thing_ had taken her over, melded with her body and mind alike to begin the twisting and shaping.

The iron-hard walls around the mind of the rider were considerably more powerful than those she had broken before. And that didn't make sense. It simply didn't. He was too strong for her to tear apart within the first few seconds of their fight, unlike anyone she had ever faced before. But that could not be; his dragon had been mortally wounded in the fight, stabbed in the chest as it tried to protect its human. The pain that should be flowing through the mind of the armoured human should be utterly obliterating his very core, yet he still possessed enough power to defy her. Her!

How? How could he do something like that? It was physically impossible for him to be standing upright, yet he was here, standing strong enough to withstand the might of a shade. And not any shade, but her. She who was unique amongst a dozen individuals; she who had been granted the gracing mercy of awareness at the hands of her mistress. The human's defiance was an insult to her and her master and she would not have it! He would pay with his blood.

She plunged her probes deeper into the mind of the human, watching as he continued to defend himself from the grey monsters with a speed that outclassed that of the elves. His concentration despite his obvious agony was simply too high for it to have a human origin. He had to have at least a dozen spellcasters helping him, the cowardly creature.

She growled and struck at him with her sword, but like water he flowed to the side and smote a Kull with some complicated movement.

How was he doing all of this? He was poisoned, tortured by his mind and surrounded by death. He should be breaking down and kneeling before her! Even a mighty dragon could not withstand these circumstances; had it been his partner facing her in the exact same battle, with its rider wounded to the brink of death, it would have fallen to her might.

Oh how Raia hated the human. How she despised him with her entire being. He had killed her body once, humiliating her with a forceful and exceedingly intimate death. He had wronged her unlike anything could have ever wronged her and that was only how they had met.

And then the egg had hatched for _him_ and he had been granted a partner unlike anyone could ever have. Unlike _she _could ever have. And that had marked the human as her mortal foe; when he had first arrived to fight her and her master, she had thought him to be a demon. Inhuman, outlandish and lethal. A mindless enemy to be respected for its prowess and mercilessly slaughtered for its wishes and intents. A creature that she could compare herself to, perhaps.

But then the dragon had hatched for him and she had realized that the mind she had carefully been scouting was not a demonic one at all; it was a human one. And had she pressed the assault at the very first second, she would have found that out. And she would have killed him then and there.

As the grey human attempted to grab her wrist, the beating of her heart increased and she leaped backwards, desperately trying to escape his attack. Her first death at his hands might have been humiliating, but her second death had been plain torture. He had destroyed her body with a ferocity that fitted only with the cruelest of Lethrblaka. It hurt her to merely think about it and the very presence of this human was a tortuous experience for her mind. She did not want to fear him; she was Raia! The most unique and gifted among her kind! Graced by her mistress mercy and gifted with the darkest of magic. He should not be so mortifying…but he was. She couldn't forget what he had done to her and it clashed so much with what he was. Humans were never so cruel, or brutal.

Sure, she would get attacked on sight everywhere she went. Sure the humans would try to skewer her heart with every ounce of strength they could muster, merely because she was evil in their eyes. But that death was nothing compared to what this rider had done. He was a twisted, sadistic and spoiled bastard that had been gifted with the two things that she could never ever have been gifted with: love and admiration. Love from a deeply-running bond with a dragon and admiration of a nation that depended on him.

Raia pressed the assault performed a series of quickly-escalating slashes with her sword, hacking at him from her left shoulder, twisting the sword over the same shoulder before placing it at the other, continuing the fluent movement that would only end once she had killed her enemy

.Her enemy's abilities were far beyond anything she had ever seen before. She could not harm him physically and even when she got lucky and hit him with an otherwise bone-crunching strike, an unknown ward would deflect her attack. How much energy did this monstrous child possess? Just how much luck had live granted him?

The rider's ability only served to further infuriate her and she continued to slash at him, wanting to make him feel every bit of her rage and wrath until he lay dead and mangled at her feet. She could not express just how much she despised this one.

The rider struck at her again with his dark knife, drawing blood as he pierced the skin of her cheek. It was a minor scratch, but it broke her concentration and a counter-attack was initiated by the human. His probe was singular and that made his attack less than hers. But his probe was smooth, sharp and powerful. It latched onto her mind and pierced her defenses, forcing her to relive some memories as they came bubbling out from her sadly twisted mind.

_She was standing on the side of a mountain, watching as the hated human and his black dragon approached her trap. She would make him feel what her life felt like before she killed him. She would kill his dragon, forcing him to live through the worst agonies and pains of feeling a part of him be consumed in darkness. To be alone in the world, knowing that it had once been differently. That was how she would punish him and only then would she be happy._

She screamed with rage and drove her burning nails deeper into the mind of her enemy, forcing him towards the pit that was his dragon's pain. Forcing him to embrace her attack, The harming of his partner must have been deeper than she had expected, because she made her way past the initial defenses and forced him to spill his own memories.

_The human stood atop a hill, clad in his armour and wearing a large weapon. Ahead lay a human, hidden in surroundings that she did not recognize. How certain he felt of himself, how prepared he was to take the lives of his fellow men._

Raia cried out in pain as all the information on this boy clashed ferociously. He was a human boy, a teenager. He wore armour, but was too young to block her. But he moved faster than an elf did and struck harder than a Kull did. His brutality and ferocity matched that of a mindless shade and his endurance far outclasses that which she knew of, with his poisoned body and bleeding mind. His dragon was dying and he was still standing, while he should be in shock. She saw him as selfish and sadistic and hated him for having what she did not, but that single memory added yet another thing to the pile of chaos that the rider was. Killing was not fun for him, murdering was not a sport. He simply did. Why? Why did he do that? Why had he hurt her so much? Had that been because she had attempted to kill his dragon?

She whispered two dark words in the old language and felt the energy seep out of her body. This human was not defended against magic, only against physical attacks. The dimwitted soul had not prepared for a foe that could see underneath his helmet; one who could see what they hurt. If she wanted to his heart, she needed to imagine his hear. She needed to understand about it and because of his thick armour, she could not properly execute that magic. It would only rebound off of his wards.

But this spell was different. She had reached the point of no return and would make the human suffer for bringing her there: she had intertwined their minds. She had forged their defenses together, linking them more closely than ever before. It was nowhere near the bond with a dragon, but it was enough for her to force the human to understand her hatred of him. To feel fear for the last time.

But the spell backfired somehow; the memories of her life and the memories of his life continued to meet in the warring of their minds and she groaned as she felt another one of this human's disgusting memories. She didn't want to know anything of him, as she knew him. She knew his kind and she didn't want –

_The human was sitting in a dark room, his body that of a child. His face was obscured and his clothes were ragged. The young boy had his arms wrapped around him and was silently hurting inside, feelings of detachment and disbelief clouding his juvenile mind._

The shade clenched her sword-hand and tried to block out the memory, but the message was clear. And one of her own flooded into the mutual complex that was their minds, forcing the rider to feel her pain as well.

_She was crouched low in a tree, concealed from those below. It was just after her mistress had saved her from the fates of the likes of Durza and Kruag, forced to be husks for the spirits inside of them. She had attempted to enter the city, but the guards attacked her. And her body had killed them in retaliation before she even knew what it would do when faced with stress. The humans wanted to kill her purely because of what she was and she hadn't done anything to harm them! They were pathetic monsters and she would kill them. But it was so soon…so unnecessary._

The redheaded woman whimpered as the painful memory struck the human's mind and she knew that he knew. She did not want him to feel such things; she wanted him to fear her, not laugh at her pain!

The intensity of their link grinded all around them to a halt, forcing them to live through each other's feelings in the span of one second. Life was standing still around them and her body was so incredibly slow. It would not serve her. Never before had she attempted such a spell, but she couldn't have known about the effects. It was simply impossible to account for such things when concerning magic.

A new memory of the human surged forwards.

_Standing still inside of a white chamber, surrounded by men and women in white coats. His body no longer looked like a child yet his mind was still similar to one. His limbs were unmoving and his face without emotion, yet his inside his mind raged. He was eleven years old and donning his armour for the first time-_

Raia gasped and tore herself away from the contact. It did not make sense! The suit she was seeing was similar to the one in the memory! Its size might be unclear, but that was it. Had this human been wearing the armour of a warrior since he was a child? He could not have faked this, as their minds were intertwined. His inhuman concentration prevented her from raping his mind, but still she could feel that his memories were true.

_The human stood in a hall, with a small group of strange-clothed people questioning him. Their voices were inaudible, his feelings clear. He did not understand the people asking him questions and he could not comprehend why they were outraged. Had he not done his duty? Had he not killed the enemy? _

His walls slipped as his dragon unleashed another agony-induced wail. The pain and hurt that she –for it was undoubtedly a she that was dying in pain- was distracting the soldier and that allowed Raia to glance into his mind.

And what she saw frightened her. This human was no longer human; no longer the enemy she had made him. He was no longer a selfish and blessed child: he was now a relentless, unstoppable force that could withstand the anguish and agony of a part of him crying out in desperation and despair. His mind was alien, inhuman and dark.

The shade could not comprehend his mind. She did not understand what drove him, what his motives were or even what made him walk. The only thing she understood was that she did not understand him. His endurance matched that of her mistress and for the very first time, she understood how this…this disturbed _child…_ could have possibly killed her.

He was inhumanity made human. Something that nobody can ever understand.

Raia's hatred of him washed away, turning into pity and fear. No longer was this a lucky and selfish hero to the people: now he was a corrupted child that lived to kill. She knew that he was locked in an endless clash with the world, in which neither him nor the world understood the other. He was like her in that way; feared by those that did not understand. The bond with his dragon was no blessing, for it was a curse.

And he frightened her. Heavens he frightened her. Her previous deaths paled to what she felt at the moment. The pain-induced howling of his dragon had bolstered his resolve and the bare tendril of thought carved through her resistance, which seemed feeble when compared to the presence of this demonic child, this disturbed demon.

_She cried out in pain and desperation as she vengeful spirits delved into her mind, possessing her once-human body and burning away everything that had once made her who she was: Raia. They ruined her frame and purged her consciousness over the course of four hours, as she fought them endlessly and desperately. The desperation of a young woman in despair was all-powerful, yet not enough to block the hateful spirits. She lies sprawling on the ground, sobbing as he mind was being torn apart. She had lost. _

The Shade fell to the ground as the rider rose up, the pain and agony of his draconic bond flooding into her as he tore her defenses to pieces. Fear and desperation rivalled only by the ones felt at the time of her possession arose in her heart and her body automatically replied in kind, preserving her live as it had done when the guards had been about to stab her. Her mouth moved and magic overflowed her system, breaking down every barrier that she had and using nearly all of her magic to jump-start the poisen in the human's system. She knew it was there and it was the only way to end their shared suffering; to prevent the rider from feeling his dragon dying and to prevent her from sharing in kind.

But the human did not fall. He did not succumb to the raging spasms that the drug would cause. Instead, he calmly stepped towards her even as she frantically scrambled backwards. A vague buzzing near her mind made her aware of the death of a person called Durza, but that did not bother her. She was alone one way or the other, lying defeated on the floor as she desperately tried to get away from the impossible rider. The urgals had stopped attacking and the dragon was still not dead.

Raia whimpered in fear as the dragon whimpered in pain. The grey warrior approached her and tears flowed down her cheeks, uncontained by her raging emotions. She could no longer hate this human and that made her despair all the worse; now he was just the cause of both pity and fear. He was impossibly inhuman and she was scared. So scared.

The human's head snapped up and he looked around, witnessing the urgals turning around and leaving. Durza had forced those creatures to unite with a spell, bending the minds of their war-chiefs. Now that the male Shade was dead…the urgals had fallen apart.

Suddenly, the boy who would kill her turned around and ran away from her, heading towards the dragon that had been so wounded during the fight.

Slowly, the spell that bound Raia's mind and the rider's mind together faded away, leaving her alone with her tired-out consciousness. Her body could no longer move, even if she had wanted it to. Almost all of her energy was gone and she had disgraced herself by cowering so openly…and yet the human had spared.

And as the rider held his bleeding dragon in his arms, Raia felt not for herself. She felt for the dragon that had fallen…for the human that had been so twisted in the past. The human was capable of surviving so much damage on his own…but he was vulnerable if his dragon could not defend herself.

It was obvious that he wanted to capture her…but his attention was aimed rightfully so at the dragon. Could he perhaps heal her? Or would she die in his arms?

Perhaps that would be the best solution. For the dragon to die, releasing the warrior's mind from whatever state it was suffering from. The shock would either kill him or drive him mad…and seeing as he was inhuman, it might release him and make him human gain.

Raia slowly lowered her head and rested on the cold floor. The urgals were retreating, Durza was dead and the Varden was victorious…and as she watched the dragon moaning in pain after having refused to leave her partner's side, dying for her troubles, the shade wondered whether her mistress would care for her like that, should she ever perish in her arms.

* * *

_That is what these Spartans have been receiving for a long time: counter-agents to keep at bay all the harmful effects of the drugs that were implemented during the augmentation procedure. And as it turned out, a delay ranging between a few days to a few weeks in the regular schedule of anti-drug administrations will result in a major decline in the Spartan's ability to reason, cognitive functions and clear thinking. In short; the animal part of the brain will take over completely and weaken the power of the mind. It is unknown whether it will cause severe dementia, insanity or death…and I don't even know if it is permanent or not. _

\- Mental Health Specialist Sunfield, logbook entry 4, 24th of August 2552- continuation.


	9. Physician, heal thyself

"_Alright you dogs, listen up! We've had reports of a group of strangely clothed men and women traveling south, through the empire without being apprehended. So far, they have managed to avoid our patrols –but not anymore. Saddle your horses up! We are going to hunt them down and capture them, for the king!"_

Unidentified group of empire cavalry-men, approximately eleven to twelve days after incursion of UNSC asset 2S-007

* * *

Aeraleth hissed through her bloodied teeth when her rider reached out to touch her wounded, heaving chest. The mere thought of anyone near her wound hurt her body even more than it already did and even though it concerned the only person she trusted with the task, she did not want to have him near her. The wound itself was gruesome enough, but her very instinct rebelled against someone touching it.

She had been stupid. So very stupid. Her rider had warned her away multiple times, but she hadn't listened. She had been too stupid to listen…and she had ended up paying the price for it. When the Urgals had gone and surrounded her rider, she had feared for his life. He had been capable of easily killing half a hundred of them single-handedly and unarmed, but had still thought that he would end up hurting himself. She simply hadn't wanted to leave him. So she had touched down once again, refused to leave his side and fought alongside him –not realizing that her combat-prowess was not enough for her to stay her ground in such an overwhelming group of enemies.

The dragon whimpered and slowly lowered her body to the ground, her limbs starting to lose the energy they needed to keep her upright. She hurt so much. It was as if her chest was on fire, her innards filled with frost and her brain working against herself in an attempt to lull her into sleep. Never in her life had she felt so much pain and she instantly knew that this had to be what death felt like. Not just the burning agony of pain, or the searing pain that she had felt when the wolves had torn at their wings. This felt worse…this felt like death seeping into her marrows, draining her energy out until there remained no more.

She had been too blind to notice the group of urgals approaching her rear and without Maine there to defend her, the monstrosities had been able to hack at her legs, crippling her in her fight against the overwhelming waves of enemies.

"Stay with me," Her rider told her. He sounded like he was stuck underneath a waterfall…his voice was weak and distant.

Or that could be her having difficulties concentrating. She knew that she had made a mistake and she was paying for it. She had ignored the words of her rider, who had more experience in combat than she had. He was her superior in the hunt and she had gone and ignored him, thinking that he was still a child. But she had been wrong…her impatient sense of superiority had merely ended with her dying of a stab-wound to her chest.

"Aeraleth, focus!" Maine snapped at her as he stood next to her, his arms hanging limb next to his body and his black helmet staring at her bleeding frame. She had been stabbed in her chest by a long, thin sword that had penetrated through her sturdy ribs and she couldn't help but try to comfort her rider. He looked so helpless…

Aeraleth didn't want to die. She was barely a few weeks old and there were so many things to look forward to for her. But…she also knew when to stop struggling in vain. Her mistake had killed her. She had failed to protect her rider from the shade.

Her tongue flicked against her teeth and she exhaled painfully, trying to find some way to ease the raging pain in her side.

There was none.

Blood was dripping to the ground as she tried to get up again, but her limbs had no strength left. Her life's blood was slowly sipping away and there was nothing that she or her rider could do to help her, or even ease her pain.

He was a force of nature that could only destroy, not repair. He could dish out and take, but not take away.

"_Maine…" _She weakly told him, gathering all of her energy to speak to him. She knew what would happen to any creature in a rider-dragon bond if one of them passed away. It was a mutually assured death and only the strongest of individuals would survive such a shock…only to slip into insanity moments later. She couldn't have that.

"Aeraleth, hold on," Her human snapped at her and ran his cold, hard gloves over her side.

She couldn't prevent a shiver going down her spine. She felt so very cold…so very cold. She wanted to close her eyes and give in to the torrents of pain and blackness, but she could not. She could not yet leave her rider. But she was so tired.

The urgals were gone. The ground was absolutely littered with their bodies, blood and bodily fluids. Her rider had fought well…and so had she. Together they had bested the beasts…and the shade, for her beloved human was still alive and what remained of her vision was devoid of the dreaded female.

"Look at me!" Maine ordered her. "Stay with me!"

She couldn't keep her eyes open. The pain was slowly seeping away, making place for a warm fuzzy feeling that replaced the cold within her body. Was this what death felt like? If so, it wasn't as terrifying as she had thought it to be.

And then a sharp, bitter sensation spread throughout her chest, originating at the wound where the blade was sticking out of. Her rider was busy pulling the weapon out a few inches, tearing her out of her stupor with new and fresh waves of agony. What was he doing to her?

She felt a trickle of energy seeping into her body, which quickly intensified and became a river. It was coming from her partner-of-mind –he was pouring his energy into her wounded body, trying to preserve her life.

'_Maine…'_ She softly told him. '_Don't…'_ He had wasted enough of his energy already. Ten days walking with barely anything to eat or drink, followed by half day of test and then hours of nonstop battle. That was his life with her and it would kill him if he did not think about himself. He needed to throw his desire to protect all but himself away and think for once. He could not afford to waste the energy to heal a dragon.

But the human ignored her. As the Varden's soldiers around them reorganized, tended to their dead and wounded and cleared the area, her rider sat by her side and fed her a constant trickle of energy that just managed to prevent her from falling over the edge of life and into the maws of death.

She couldn't understand how he did that. He had to have his limits…there was no way for him to be able to keep her alive for so…long? Was it long?

Aeraleth had lost her control over time. She could no longer sense if her rider was keeping her alive for a few minutes or a few hours. All that she knew was the bitter agony in her chest and the dark numbness in her limbs.

Her once so sensitive ears could barely discern anything at that point. Her surroundings had been reduced to a grey blur and faint whispers. She was barely aware of a few humans gathering around them, but they did not approach. Why was that? Where they afraid?

"This will sting," Maine's voice suddenly cut through the tiring silence and fresh explosion of pain sparked through her chest, eliciting a loud roar from deep down her throat. Or at least she thought it to be a loud roar, but all that she heard was a soft and weak growl.

Her rider had pulled the sword out of her chest with one swift movement, drenching the ground with blood that came pouring out of the open wound. But he immediately clasped a hand over her wound and the secure grip prevented any more of her life's source to drip out. The bloodied sword clattered to the ground and the sounds of metal striking stone echoed rather loudly through her skull.

It hurt.

Her rider whispered a few words and the constant flow of energy shifted at his will, turning and shifting and making its way towards her ruined chest-cavity. There it started to expand, pulsing and changing until each and every single tendril was embedded into her flesh. At that point, her flesh started to itch and the burning transferred itself to her blood, making the pain of her injury feel much more urgent, but also strangely lifted.

What was he doing? Was he performing magic on her? After having kept her alive with nothing but the force of his own life? The boy was foolish! He would kill himself!

'_Maine…leave…me be…you must live…'_ She tried to urge him, but even though he had allowed her thoughts to slip into his mind, he did not pay her any mind. Why was he blocking the rest of her mind out? What was he hiding from her?

The Spartan increased the pressure on her chest and she sharply inhaled through her teeth as a new wave of pain crashed into her. He was healing her body, but only at the surface. He was mending her skin and flesh, but ignoring the damage on her insides. Did he not hold enough knowledge to do otherwise? Or was he spending the energy more wisely than she had thought?

"Next time," He told her matter-of-factly without stopping his attempts to repair her, "you will follow my orders. You're no good to me dead."

Aeraleth exhaled softly, feeling her still-beating heart warm with pride and happiness. He wasn't thinking that she was going to die; he solemnly believed that she would live!

She closed her eyes without trying to give in to the darkness again. Her rider had her life in his hands and she didn't want to be protected by anyone else now. He would save her and in turn, she would save him.

The dragoness pledged to herself that she would do better in the future. Had she died, she would have only increased the agony and pain of her rider. Death was not important to him, but she was. He would die before allowing anything to happen to her and by rushing mindlessly into battle, she had insulted his way of combat. She would not dishonor him like that.

She continued to bear the itching feeling of her flesh being mended by the steady flow of magic and patiently tried to establish a new contact with the mind of her rider. He was still blocking her out for some reason…he didn't even dare risk communicating mentally with her. Why was that? Was he afraid of enemy spellcasters? Or was he afraid that he would hurt her?

His energy was consistent and potential: her wound healed faster than she had thought possible and soon, what remained of the deep gash in her body had been reduced to a mere patch of bare flesh. It hurt to breathe, but it would prevent her from bleeding to death.

And that would be enough. Her body could heal on its own after this.

"I closed the wound to prevent further bleeding, but you have considerable internal damage. You need someone more capable to heal you. We need the elf."

That surprised her. Arya hated her Maine and he wasn't so fond of the elf himself. While she had no real quarrel with the elf, she did not like the way she treated her bonded partner. And the soldier never allowed anyone to interfere with something he could do himself, so why would he ask for the help of someone else? Was her condition so dire?

She tried contacting him again and found it easier to do so now that she wasn't plagued by constant agony.

But before she could actually formulate a sentence, her rider started talking again.

"Back off."

What was that? Who was he warning away?

Aeraleth opened her eyes and slowly craned her neck to the side, getting a better view of her surroundings. She was lying on the stone floor, with her tail draped weakly across a few rocks. A thick pool of crimson blood had collided with a larger pool of black fluids, creating a morbidly fascinating image on the floor. Her rider was –again- absolutely coated in the stuff. A few soldiers had finally approached him, but they had their weapons drawn and they smelled of absolute fear.

She heard a metallic click and watched as her rider pointed his smallest weapon at the humans that were his allies. '_Maine…be calm. These are our allies,'_ she warned her rider, thinking that he was confused at their allegiance.

"She's been taken care of. Back off or I will open fire!"

He was giving the soldiers a chance to surrender. That was something new. And judging by their reactions, they weren't as stupid as to ignore that.

They backed off like good little humans.

She lowered her head and spotted a lone, dark figure lying on the ground. Blood stuck to her bare skin and her clothing did not do anything to hide her ample frame from those who beheld her.

Aeraleth growled softly and tried to get to her feet, anger and fear rousing themselves from deep within her heart. The Shade was still alive! She was alive and lying right next to her rider! She needed to save him!

Wait…why was her partner-of-mind guarding the Shade? Had she surrendered to him? And…had he accepted that surrender? Impossible!

'_Maine,' _She told her rider, '_the Shade…is there. Why…is she…?'_

"She's my prisoner," He calmly explained and then rose from his crouched position.

And he wobbled a bit on his feet. That wasn't good.

'_Your…prisoner?'_

He ignored her puzzled remark and then looked down at the prone form of the beaten Shade again. "It worked."

The shade whispered something back and her rider lowered his weapon.

"Let's go then."

'_Maine!'_ She spoke again, trying to make her rider understand the urgency of the situation. Their mortal enemy was right _there_! '_She is evil! You must vanquish her!'_

'_Later,'_ He said back. '_For now, she will be our source of information. Can you move?'_

Aeraleth felt too tired to argue with her rider and instead tried to get her limbs to obey her will. ´_Barely. What now?'_

Her rider did not immediately respond. Instead, he looked down at the ground and clenched his fists. The gesture was…odd. "The urgals are retreating. Eragon is fighting the other shade-"

"Durza is dead," The female shade suddenly spoke. Her voice was completely different form the last time Aeraleth had heard her speak; instead of sounding arrogant or condescending, she now sounded careful and sorrowful. What had changed in the foul creature? Was she biding her time so that she could strike back at Maine or had the spirits inside of her body been broken by his will? "I felt the captured spirits fade away."

"You need a medic."

She understood that her refusing to follow her rider's orders had nearly been her end. And it still could be. She would not disobey him immediately again. Besides; refusing help when it was offered was stupid. '_I agree.´_

Her rider then reached out and grabbed the Shade by her throat, lifting her in the air with ease. "Don't try anything," he barked at her as he set her down and spun around so that he could aim his weapon at the back of her head.

The shade did not reply, but she also didn't throw Maine any dirty looks or other threatening signals. What had changed in her that she could prevent herself from doing that?

Aeraleth groggily rose to her full size and wavered slightly. She had almost no strength left in her limbs, but if her rider needed her to move she would move. She was a dragon, so she should be able to handle it.

'_What did I miss?'_ She asked her rider as the two of them plus the Shade marched towards the dwarf-den. Maine was walking ahead of her, still holding a weapon trained directly at the head of the redheaded female. He was a curious case; his mind felt unlike any of the minds around her. It was not human, not elven and not dwarven. It was completely and utterly strange…but it simply was. It was the mind of her partner-of-heart and she accepted him for who he was.

But she had to admit that he was too strange for her to simply ignore it. Only his speech was human, as he talked in the same language that the other humans spoke and his words lacked the elegance and poetry of that of the elves. The problem was that his body was capable of feats far beyond that of most living beings: he was stronger than Kull, faster than elves and fiercer than dragons. His mind was stuck, fluctuating between feeling like a pond without a single ripple or a great storm in a desert, tearing down entire mountains by simply being near. He did not make sense –he was impossible.

As Aeraleth watched the soldier move, another issue rose in her still-sleepy mind. He was always wearing his armour in battle. Now she hadn't ever felt how heavy plates around her body felt, but she could imagine that it wasn't really comfortable. Yet he managed to move with uncanny elegance, as if the armour was a part of his body.

Well…until recently. He still retained most of that inhuman elegance, but his movements were less fluid. More jerky and chaotic.

"Durza died. The urgals fled. The Varden won."

She snorted weakly. And a moment later she wished she hadn't done so, as a new spike of pain racked her body. '_And the Shade? How did you best her?'_

"No idea," Maine replied as he kept his gaze aimed at his prisoner, "mentally."

He sounded…off. Distracted .His movements were jerky, his mind was shielded and his words were not enough to convey a message. Was he wounded?

'_Maine, what has happened to you?'_ She asked him carefully. '_Are you wounded?'_

"Nothing worth noting."

'_There is a thin line between stupidity and bravery,'_ She thought to herself, '_and he walks it every day.'_

The three of them made their way into Tronjheim, where there were only more scared humans and dwarves waiting for then. None of them were willing to let the Shade go through their ranks, yet none of them possessed enough bravery to try and stop her.

It was as if they knew that Maine would kill them all if they dared to oppose them.

'_Can you smell Saphira?' _Her rider asked her eventually, when they arrived at a split in the city.

She sniffed the air and caught the familiar musky smell of the blue dragon. It was stronger to their left. '_She is to our left,'_ she explained.

Saphira was also a curious case. Her rider was nothing special, but the dragon was. She was Aeraleth's elder when it came to age and experience, but she still treated her like an equal. Aeraleth liked that about the dragon. The only problem was that Saphira openly hated and feared Maine, which would probably get in their way in the future.

But for now, she longed to be with the blue dragoness. Her presence would assure her that things would be alright again and who knew; perhaps Saphira knew how to deal with strange riders.

Maine eventually reached a door guarded by six dwarves. All of them assumed a hostile position when seeing the shade, but they relaxed when they saw that the monstrous female was closely followed by the armoured rider and his dragon.

They banged their spears on the ground and then opened the giant door, which was large enough for Aeraleth to enter without too much hardship.

The dwarves growled and muttered and pointed their weapons at the shade, but dared not to attack her and soon, they had passed them.

The door closed behind them with a heavy sound and Maine told her to stick close.

She agreed to his wish and looked around. They were currently inside of a very large cavernous room, large enough for her to walk around unhindered. As she had expected, Saphira was resting at the far end of the room, with her head inside the only opening in the wall. That had to be where the other races whose smell she had caught on a whim were residing.

When the door closed, the blue dragon jumped to attention and pulled her head out, growling loudly while she did.

'_Be at ease, sister of mine, '_ she told Saphira. '_The Shade is our prisoner. My rider has her under control.'_

'_Are you aware of the damage they can wreak young one?'_ Saphira replied, her anger looming in the back of her mind like a great thundercloud. '_My rider has nearly been killed by the one named Durza.'_

She inhaled sharply when she heard that. She did not neccesarily like Eragon, but she didn't dislike him either. And she knew that he meant the world to Saphira. '_What has happened?'_

'_Durza had him trapped. Arya and I were able to shatter the dwarves' crystal, but the Shade laid his back open with his weapon. An ally has barely managed to heal him.'_

Maine was unaware of the conversation that was going on between them and boldly stepped forwards, dragging the shade along by her neck without noticing that she offered zero resistance.

He was walking straight towards Saphira, who had a hard time deciding who she hated more at that moment.

'_Maine, be careful,' _She told her rider and crawled deeper into the room. '_I am sorry to hear that. My rider might also be wounded, but I do not know for sure. He hides from me.' _She then continued talking to Saphira.

Saphira cocked her head to the side and eyed the armoured human while he moved towards her. '_Why would he do that?'_ She asked.

'_I know not.'_

The blue dragon stood rigid for a few seconds before moving aside, allowing the Spartan and his captive to enter the small room that smelled of elf, dwarf and human. '_You were wounded young one. What happened to you?'_

'_I was foolish. I tried to defend my rider from the grey-horned beasts and paid with my blood. One of them struck a lethal blow…I only survived because of my rider.'_

The blue dragon snorted loudly. ´_And now he has captured a shade?'_

'_Yes. It is curious why he allows the abomination to survive. But I follow his choices.'_

Aeraleth breathed in deeply and tried to ignore the shoots of pain that followed immediately after doing so. She clenched the powerful muscles in her chest and winced as the hurt didn't go away.

'_Your rider is a strange one. How did he capture the Shade?'_

She lowered her head in shame. ´_I do not know, I was…distracted.'_

The two dragons watched as Maine and Raia walked into the side-room and subsequently unleash a storm of outrage.

Saphira hummed with amusement while she watched the small entry intently. '_I do not think he thought his actions through.'_

She couldn't disagree with her.

* * *

The Spartan jabbed the shade with the end of his gun and forced her to keep walking, entering the room before him. He should have killed her as soon as he had beaten her, but she was a hub of Intel and murdering the one source of information on the activities of your enemy was one of the easier ways to lose a war.

The Shade had proved her value by telling him the words he needed to heal Aeraleth. The dragoness had been wounded beyond his ability to patch up with simply a pressure-pad and some encouraging words. He had attempted to stop her from dying from the internal damage by feeding her his own energy, but the wound was too deep for him to prevent from killing the dragon. He had needed to focus his energy on healing her instead of replenishing her energy, but without the proper magical words to do so he had been stuck.

And then the Shade –Raia- had whispered the words he needed to use, opening a new road for him to take. Of course he had been hesitant to use the advice of an enemy, but after having hold on to his partner for more than five minutes without any positive outcome clear to him, he had gotten somewhat desperate. And while the words themselves might have been meant as a trap, he had charged them with a different meaning. It had allowed him to heal Aeraleth's wounds on the surface, preventing her from bleeding out.

After everything that had transpired, he had lacked both the energy and inspiration to completely heal Aeraleth. The Shade had done something during their fight, linking his mind with hers and forcing him to relive several memories that he hadn't thought about for a while. At the same level, he had managed to press the attack on the mind of the Shade and forced her to give up her spoils as well, throwing her own memories into the fray and creating even more chaos.

Aeraleth's deep wounds, combined with the previous battle-haze in his mind, had made it hard for him to concentrate. He was certain that Raia had eventually used magic at some point, but the effects were vague at best. At times, his vision would blur and his legs would weaken, but he could focus enough to bite through it. The only consequent effects of the energetic change in the fight were a deep nausea, trembling limbs and a very hot internal temperature inside of his suit, despite the meters pointing out that it was cold.

He had to admit that he was starting to feel weaker. The long-lasting fight with the urgals, various wounds that Aeraleth had suffered through and the mental warfare that he had been forced to fight in were all things he could take without too much trouble…but keeping a dragon alive for several minutes with nothing but his own life-force before actually healing her had taken its toll on his body.

But he could still walk and should the need arise, he could also defend the shade from any attempts on her life.

But the doorway ahead was a tad too small for Aeraleth and he was forced to leave her behind with Saphira, who had allowed him and the Shade to pass without too much trouble.

The Spartan and the Shade entered the small room where the rest of the warriors he knew were waiting. It was a small, medical room where all kinds of herbs and other plants were hanging from the roof. The interior of the room was dominated by all kinds of small chairs, beds and chests. Eragon was sitting upright in one bed, conversing with the taller male called Murtagh. The elf was watching them from a distance and a different woman was standing there. She had medium-length, blond hair and deep blue eyes, shrouded by make-up that gave her an exotic look. Her body was clad in green and black armor that appeared to be metal instead of leather and a red cape was garbed over her shoulders. Like most females, her armour wasn't thick or well-plated, still looking more like leather than any sort of metal.

Raia the shade entered the room and Eragon just happened to glance at her direction. His eyes grew wide with fear and he jerked upright, clumsily reaching for a sword. Arya immediately noticed his distress and spun around, pulling her sword out with one smooth movement.

"Hold up," he called and stepped in front of the Shade, holding out a hand as a sign to Arya that she needed to back off.

She didn't. The elf slashed at the Shade, who made no impression that she was going to dodge the blow. In the time that it took Arya to spot and attack Raia, Murtagh and the other woman only barely managed to turn around.

But he was still much faster. He dashed forwards and caught the blade on his left arm, which rebounded off of the hard armour with a sharp 'twang', draining ten percent of his shields.

Then he whirled his arm around her hand, pinning the sword to the side while he brought his other hand to her stomach, pressing his fingers against her stomach to let her know that he had her outmaneuvered.

"Relax," He told the elf, who stared at him with a downright furious expression. Her strength was comparable to that of Raia. "She's a prisoner now."

Arya's scowl intensified, but she still disengaged from him with careful movements. "Are you a fool, Spartan? Bringing that thing in here with us? With Eragon?"

He frowned. "Gathering Intel is as important as winning a battle."

Murtagh yelled with surprise when he saw what was going on and pulled out his sword too, but the blond woman merely stared at the Spartan with amusement.

"Shades are evil!" Eragon cried out, "You can't trust one to keep any promise!"

Raia's expression remained neutral and unchanged, but her voice betrayed her annoyance as she spoke. "And Shades are always destructive and violent, yet one managed to command an army to lay waste to the Varden."

He turned to face the redheaded woman. "Shut up," Then he looked back at Eragon. "We need her for information. If you want to win this thing, you will need as much as you can get."

"This rider speaks with wisdom," The exotic human replied, still looking amused and still keeping a close eye on Raia. "Greetings, new one. My name is Angela. I have not seen you before, have I?"

"No," He replied and walked closer to the bed where the wounded Eragon was lying. The kid was inexperienced, naïve and recently hurt. He wouldn't be able to give him a proper report.

So he turned to the one called Murtagh. "What's the situation?" He demanded while looking around. Both Murtagh and Arya were bandaged; the human around his head and the elf on her arm.

"Ehm…I…" The male hesitated, but the blonde woman quickly took over.

"Straight to the point now, are we? Very well. Eragon killed the Shade called Durza, but was wounded while doing so. Arya and Saphira rescued him in time and the ranks of the urgals broke."

He nodded and looked around again. Arya and Murtagh both looked angry for some reason, while Eragon looked shaken and upset. He had been wounded…yet his torso and his head were clear of any wounds. Where had he been hit? Jabbed on the hips, slashed at the arms?

The Spartan walked past the woman and took a look at the back of the kid. A thick, ropy scar started on his right shoulder, running down until the bed obscured it. Eragon quickly clasped a hand over his back, but the soldier had seen enough. A sword had laid his back open and judging by the pattern and direction of the scar, it ended at his hip. The kid might have slain the Shade, but he had paid a nasty price for it.

He turned around again and a wave of dizziness overcame him. He resisted the urge to shake his head and looked around to spot a place where he could sit down.

There was no such place for him. First he needed to think about their next step. If they were smart, they would rout the urgals while they were retreating. But the very first thing that had the priority was finding a way to lock the shade up. She could kill any normal man and woman who tried to stop her, so only an elf or a dragon could stop her.

Which meant that she had to follow him everywhere he went. He had not thought it through very well. Oh well.

He pulled out his sidearm again and aimed it at the head of the Shade, who immediately stepped back. Everyone tensed up again as the two of them moved. "Time to live up to the deal," He told her.

"You realize the extent of your choice now, Spartan?" The woman called Angela asked him. How did she know that name? "A shade cannot easily be convinced to change sides. At the earliest convenient time, she will break out and murder again. And that will be on your head."

"Hundreds of people died because the Varden's leadership lacked the will to attain information," He crudely replied, "that will change today."

He half expected someone to call him out on his words again, but thankfully they kept their mouths shut.

"My deal was with you and you only, rider," Raia calmly told him. "I shall answer your questions, but only when we are without others."

The Shade had told him the words he needed to save Aeraleth. In a way, _she_ was the reason that the dragon was still alive. He hated that. He really should have killed her but…she had proven to be useful and at the very least trustworthy. The sickening pain that had coursed through his body at that moment had proven to him just how feeble and strange the link with Aeraleth was. Had she died, his mind would have collapsed due to the shock.

"Why do you trust a shade?" Eragon asked softly. "Do you not know that she will attempt to stab you in the back at the first moment she can?"

"Humans," Raia replied sharply, her voice assuming a very venomous tone, "consistently betray each other. I keep my word when I give it."

The Spartan remembered a certain memory of hers, where a bunch of town-guards had attacked her for her appearance alone. She was bitter against humans for the way they treated her. Why wasn't she as bitter against him? Because of his own memories?

"That is impossible," Arya softly said. "Shades are vile and cruel creatures, incapable of understanding loyalty. Durza's reason for following Galbatorix had to have been one of dark ones only."

That was as flawed a form of logic as any.

"What exactly did you promise the Shade in return for her…questionable services?" Angela asked him. It looked like she was the only one that was even willing to consider letting the Shade live. "I can barely consider the consequences of an unholy alliance between a rider as yourself and a Shade. It would be most…unpleasant if one were to do such a thing without thinking it through."

This was going in the wrong direction. He needed the Varden as an ally, but he also needed Raia, if only for information. He needed to give them a valid reason to trust him, or this would go south very quick. "She taught me how to heal Aeraleth."

That caught them by surprise. Eragon and Murtagh both exclaimed a cry of disbelief and Arya frowned deeply. Angela smiled. "The Shade, telling you how to heal your dragon? What, did she teach you magic words?"

"Yes," He replied uncomfortably. He still lacked knowledge of the affairs of this world, it appeared. "I let her live, she gives us Intel."

"That leaves us one big problem though," Angela then cheerfully said, as if everything was one big joke to her. "What does she want in return?"

Raia took the sentence as aimed at her and replied to the woman before anyone could speak up first. "I wish to be done with this war, started by humans and elves. I wish to return to the one important to me and wait it out."

The one important to her. Her mistress? The woman powerful enough to work with a Shade? But that one was working with the king too…wasn't she?

"And who would that be, if not Galbatorix himself?" Murtagh asked with suspicion. "Your words hold nothing for us to trust in."

"Shades hold no important ones. She is attempting to trick us," Eragon added.

"There are only three options that lie before us now," Angela then stated and sat down on a chair. "The Shade must be killed…the Shade must be captured using an extremely advanced method of magic…or the Shade must swear loyalty to Spartan, for he should be the one responsible for her."

"What would that change?" He skeptically asked the woman. What use had a promised word for a creature that was supposed to break every word?

"In the Ancient Language, of course," she added.

He waited for her to give some follow-up explanation, but the missing pieces of the puzzle soon started to fill in the blanks. Magic existed and was used by talking in the ancient language. If someone were to promise something in that language, would it become a magical bond?

He needed to verify it. "I don't understand."

Angela sighed explosively and sat down on one of the chairs, her blonde hair circling around her head as she did so. "I take it you know even less than Eragon does when it concerns magic?"

"Hey!" The kid replied, but nobody but Arya paid him mind.

"You cannot lie in the ancient language," The woman then explained as she plucked a few herbs from the wall. "It's why magic is possible. Most binding oaths are made in the Ancient Language, because they cannot be broken. Twisted with the right mindset, of course, but not broken. The only way for your Shade to assure her loyalty is to make her swear it."

'_Aeraleth?'_ He contacted his partner, '_What do you think?'_

'_I think that she could be a dreadful and powerful ally, if we were to attain her full loyalty. But I also think it to be impossible. Such is not the nature of a Shade.'_

"You said you wanted to be gone from this war," Angela then told the Shade, but the Spartan interrupted her.

"Do it," He told Raia. His head was pounding, his vision was constantly blurring and his stomach felt like it had been torn apart and nailed back together. All in all he was having difficulty in standing upright. He wanted this mess over with; he wanted to leave all these stupid people and retreat to the watchtower, where he would grab an hour of rest before flushing the remaining urgals out of their tunnels. He didn't want to kill the Shade, as she was too important. He didn't want her captured, as she would break free. He wanted her bound to him by her word, forced and compelled by magic as he was bound to Aeraleth.

"Now, just wait a moment-" Angela then warned them, suddenly sounding anxious.

Her worries were not important.

Raia nodded and then seemed to concentrate for a few seconds, before she spoke up with new clarity in her voice. "I want to return to the one important to me. I hold no allegiance to the empire…but neither do I care what happens in this war. I shall follow only you."

"Deal," He replied. If she followed him, she would be bound without any risk at leaving. That would leave him free to interrogate her.

"I had never thought to see a Shade promise fealty," Murtagh whispered.

"Eka weohnata tauthr thornessa Shur'tugal eom älfrs wyda, orono pömnuria ebrithil," Raia then said with calm confidence, her voice leaving shivers running down the Spartan's spine. A strange echo followed each and every word and when she was done speaking, the room was shrouded in a deafening silence that was much worse than the pleasant silences he had caused before. "I will follow this rider to his fate or my master," She then clarified. Her oath in the Ancient Language sounded…powerful, for a lack of different words.

'_Did you just force a Shade to swear fealty to you?'_ Aeraleth asked.

"You are a very intriguing person, Spartan," Angela then told him. "I take it you are not willing to share your secrets?"

He ignored her remark and turned to face Raia. "What does this mean to you?"

He heard Murtagh and Eragon whispering in the background and Arya exchanging a few words with Angela. He also deemed them unimportant to him.

"It means that I will follow you to the point where I can rejoin my master," Raia calmly explained.

She wanted him dead an hour ago. What had changed in her? The so-called intimate sharing of their memories? Or the absolute beatdown he had laid down? He didn't trust her either way.

"And if I order you away beforehand?" He asked.

"I do not know. I would require specific and important orders for that."

"And when will you stab me in the back?" He then asked her, growing tired of her attempts to dodge the most important question at that moment. "Or will you find a different way to twist your words?"

"You misinterpret my words, rider," Raia softly replied. Whenever she looked at Arya or Eragon or even Angela, her expression would assume a hateful quality. But for some reason, that hate and…disgust…at the other people…seemed to disappear when she looked at him instead. Something truly had changed between them, but what? And why? "I wish to elaborate on my oath…somewhere else."

The Spartan nodded, understanding her desire to be away from the people that did not understand a thing. If he had to choose between the Shade and the other combatants, he would rather choose the Shade than anyone else. He had virtually nothing that made him relate to Arya, Eragon or Murtagh. He didn't know them, he didn't care for them and he didn't want to have anything to do with them. But at least he had something that linked him with Raia; she Shade might have been his enemy for some time, but she had surrendered and even sworn an oath to him. In a way, that made her his responsibility.

…no, that _did _make her his responsibility. He had really not through all of this through.

"Why are you here Spartan?" Arya then sharply asked him before he could leave.

He cursed softly under his breath and turned to face the elf. The truth was that he had originally came to get a check on the situation, find out what had happened and then enlist Arya to help heal his dragon. But now…he wasn't too sure whether he should be telling these people any more than he had already told them. He had basically lost their trust with bringing Raia to them.

'_You do not need to continue little soldier,'_ Aeraleth suddenly spoke to him in the back of his mind. Her voice was soft, strained and pained, but that didn't mean he couldn't understand her. '_I can heal on my own. Arya's help is not needed.'_

He sent her a silent 'thank you' and then answered the question. "To check up on the situation."

"Where were you during the fight then?" Murtagh angrily asked him, still keeping a close eye on the Shade. "You come here, bring a Shade as you prisoner and then force her to swear an oath? Who are you to hold such power!"

"Not only that, but you have taken an egg that nobody even knew existed and made it hatch! Nobody can do that to the king and live!" Eragon added.

"I would like to know as well. Your entire presence is wrong," Arya then spoke up too.

He saw Angela smiling in satisfaction and he heard Raia scowling with anger. It was time for these people to hear the truth –and with the truth, he really meant a twisted and partial truth.

The Spartan straightened his back. "I am Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven, a Spartan assigned to and last survivor of the UNSC When Duty Ends."

His response puzzled the humans and elf even more. He could see Eragon throwing a confused glance at Murtagh, who shrugged in response. Arya's scowl lifted and made place for a mild surprise, while Angela seemed to frown for once.

'_Those are a lot of numbers in your name, ´_ Aeraleth told him. ´_Are there more of you?'_

'_Yes,'_ he replied.

"You told us that your name was Spartan," Eragon asked, "but now you use that name as if it were a group like the Varden. And where did you even come from? Are you not from Alagaesia?"

"I came from the stars," he replied impatiently and then turned around to leave. While doing so, he heard Angela gasping in shock and dropping some stone item that she had grabbed during their conversation. Her response was of no consequence to him and neither was the animosity between him and the other warriors.

Raia followed him without hesitation while he walked away and he spotted Saphira sitting on the floor, unmoving like a statue and staring at him with her bright, blue eyes. She had probably overheard his conversation with the rest of the group and she also probably shocked by it.

Aeraleth also got to her feet and moved after him, adding a dragon to his list of feral female followers. He had to admit that he was slightly curious to the oath that Raia had sworn to him; why she had done it and what it compelled her to do. She had been more than openly hostile towards him…

While the Spartan made his way through Tronjheim, navigating the many tunnels and rooms without trouble, he felt another wave of dizziness and nausea washing over him. What was wrong with him? What had changed? Why was he having so much difficulty walking straight?

He managed to make it to the large watchtower, where he and Aeraleth could rest without being disturbed. The fight was over and if the Varden could last without Eragon, Saphira and Arya, they could also last without him. There were dead and wounded soldiers everywhere and for the moment, the battle had been put on a major hold.

And as the Spartan stumbled up the stairs to the large room while Aeraleth flew in from above, his lungs were starting to ache too. It was if the air had grown stale, making it hard for him to breathe. Raia awkwardly stayed behind while he moved upstairs.

'_Maine? What is wrong?'_ His dragon asked.

He ignored her remark and leant against the wall as his legs nearly gave away underneath him. Something was very wrong indeed, but he had no clue as to what had caused it. Was this an overuse of magic? Or had something else happened? Had Raia done this?

He grunted and brought his hands to his helmet, fumbling with the neck-seal until he released it, allowing the grey piece of equipment to be removed.

With his helmet in his hands he took in few large gulps of air, slowly regaining his senses.

Aeraleth was watching him keenly, her sharp yellow eyes aimed directly at his face. It didn't really occur to the Spartan that this was the first time that the dragon had seen his face, but what did occur to him was that it had been more than ten days since he had last really taken care of himself. He needed food, water and rest.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed softly. He also needed to cut his hair and shave.

'_You are ill, yes?'_ The dragon asked.

"Don't know," He replied and sat down on a nearby rock, brandishing his combat knife while doing so. With his bonded partner watching him, he started cutting his dark hair off. It had grown a few inches since he had last donned his helmet and it was longer than the standard regulation allowed. He couldn't have that.

Aeraleth was amused by watching him. '_Longer hair suits you better.'_

When he was done fixing his hair back to its regular size, he started on his facial hair. He didn't really have a beard or moustache, but it had definitely grown to an undesirable size during his time in Alagaesia.

'_Now you have a Shade under your command,'_ Aeraleth said, '_what will you do with her?'_

He slowly ran the edge of his knife down his cheek, cutting off the larger hairs while flattening the smaller ones. He didn't know what was going to happen after the Varden had beaten the urgals, but he did know that they would have to eventually take the fight to the empire. That meant gathering allies…meeting up with the elves and perhaps other races and enlist them in the war.

But even if the future of the war was clear to him, the nearby future was still vague and blurry. Raia had promised her loyalty with magic, but that loyalty was questionable at best. She was an individual with the strength and durability of a Hunter, ferocity of a brute and tactical mind of an Elite. It was clear to him that she was a magical creature; unbound by mortal laws.

She could be an asset…but there was a greater risk of her being a liability. A liability that needed to be controlled carefully. He had never thought about the consequences of actually keeping the Shade around d. Other people did not trust her and neither did he trust her. But he was probably the only one who could keep her under control and he was all too familiar with the destructive abilities that she possessed.

"Have her spill the Intel she has on the empire and magic," He replied and reached for his helmet again. He felt weak, nauseous and very tense. Things were _not _going according to plan. "Control her somehow. Use her at the front lines. She did save you, so she can be important."

'_Not true!´_ Aeraleth replied with shock, sounding absolutely horrified at the mere thought of owning her life to a Shade. ´_It was you who nearly died to keep me alive! Your energy and your magic mended my wounds!´_

"She told me the words. When it was obvious that I couldn't save you, she told me the words to heal."

'_But…but…´ _Aeraleth went silent again. It was obvious that the dragon was still hurting from her wound, as evident by her still strained and weak voice. And it was obvious that she couldn't stand the fact that she had been saved by a Shade. It was an emotional problem that he wasn't burdened by. The end result was that Aeraleth was alright and not dead, the means justified the end.

The Spartan placed his helmet back on his head and closed his eyes briefly. He felt dizzy and sick and his head hurt. He could still feel the painful throbbing of the chest-wound that his partner had recieved, but that was the least of his problems.

'_You do not show your face very often, do you?'_ His partner then asked him eventually, starting a new subject.

"No," He allowed the dragon to change the sensitive subject. He should really grab some R&amp;R and prepare for coming fights. He could flush out the remaining urgals later, as the Varden had a huge advantage in morale and position now that they had turned the horned hostiles around. But he couldn't sleep yet, as he didn't trust the Shade too much.

'_Why not?'_

He started to answer the dragoness, thought better of it and then contacted her mentally, cutting out the risk of magical eavesdroppers. Raia had stayed behind to give him some privacy –at least that was what he thought her cover was- but her oath still left open a lot of holes for her to initiate hostilities. '_Protection.'_

She sighed; a rumbling sensation that shook the tower. '_Ouch,'_ she softly stated when she felt the effects of that deep sigh. '_And I don't really think you need protection. The stray arrow might hit you, or-'_

'_Bullets. Plasma. Explosives,'_ He quickly counted out.

Aeraleth blinked slowly. '_Excuse me? What?'_

And then he spent the next few minutes carefully explaining to Aeraleth what he meant; what weapons he had encountered in the war. Throughout his explanation, the dragon slowly lowered herself to the stone floor and closed her eyes. She consistently insisted that she wasn't tired and he was less and less intent on believing her. It wasn't every day that you were skewered in the chest by a sword…unless you were a Spartan of course.

'_And an explosion is a sudden release of energy and heat, resulting in burns and dismemberment.'_

'_And you…carry devices that can release such intense energy?'_ Aeraleth asked him.

He brandished a fragmentation grenade and showed it to her. '_I activate the explosive charge with the button, throw it and the weapon –called a grenade- explodes, showering the enemy with shrapnel.'_

'_Shrapnel?'_

'_Fragments of hot, high-speed metal that penetrate armour, flesh and bone.'_

'_So technically,'_ the dragon then tried to make sense of his information, '_you have an energy-filled item that shoots your enemies for you? Just like your…guns?'_

'_What the blast doesn't kill, the shrapnel does.'_

'_That seems a very easy method to kill…lots of enemies…'_ Aeraleth then weakly stated and exhaled a puff of smoke, her breath slowing.

'_Aeraleth, how copy?'_ He asked the dragon, seeing how she was losing her concentration.

No reply.

'_Aeraleth, you there?'_

No response. Curious.

The Spartan walked over to the dragoness and placed a hand on her flank, checking if she was still breathing.

Her sides were steadily rising and falling and she wasn't bleeding anywhere. She was probably still weakened from her wounds. But her condition was troublesome; if she couldn't defend herself when a situation arose, they could run into some serious opposition. He would need to find a way to overcome that…

The Spartan heard the faint rubbing of fabric against stone and snapped his rifle up to the right, aiming at the entryway where only humanoids could enter from.

In the doorway stood Raia, clad in her fetishistic leather outfit and her black sword hanging at her hip.

"Rider," She greeted him courteously. Her voice sounded different from the last time he had heard her speaking, in the company of elves and humans. Back then, it had been filled with suppressed anger and malice. Now, it sounded…not filled with suppressed anger and malice. Or less so.

He ignored her greeting and lowered his rifle again.

Raia probably took that as permission to enter, as she blatantly walked in and inspected the sleeping Aeraleth. "I wished to further explain the oath I have sworn to you."

The Spartan felt like he was too messed up to understand an explanation at that point, but he still focused his attention on the Shade and listened to her. Any signs of weakness would give her incentive to strike and he had not gone through all that trouble of sparing her life just to kill her later. "Shoot."

She nodded and sat down on a nearby rock. The watchtower's top part had a cylinder-like form, with a small staircase leading to a few portholes at the top, from where soldiers could fire arrows…or snipe. The curious design allowed for a dragon to sleep with its tail curled around its body and at least twenty humans to stand in the middle with it.

As long as the dragon wasn't too big.

The Shade watched him intently as she spoke. "I do not think you are very familiar with magic and the laws of the Ancient Language. Am I correct?"

He nodded slowly. He had no clue as to how magic worked or how it was possible for him to speak telepathically to a dragon. Normally, he would have dismissed the things he had seen as biological weapons and science. But after having performed feats impossible even for a Spartan –lifting more than a hundred spent casings and using them as new bullets with just his mind- he had lost his skepticism somewhat.

"Then you do not understand that a promise in this language cannot be broken."

"What happens if you break it?"

"I cannot. It is impossible to lie when I speak in it. If I tried to tell you that I am human, the Language would stop the words in my mouth."

So if she promised to not die and he shot her? Would that count? Or if she promised to not fire a weapon and he forced her to pull the trigger? No…she would have promised that _she _wouldn't fire a weapon and if he forced her to, it would actually be him, not her. But the concept was interesting. "But you can circumvent."

"Correct. And I am here to prevent you from thinking that I would harm you…or your partner. When I made my oath, I was thinking of two possible outcomes. With your 'fate', I meant the end of your journey. Whether that would be victory or defeat…or change."

"You told me that your master wanted a rider for herself. I can't let you rejoin her."

Raia's eyebrows narrowed. "Understand that, when the time is there, I must."

That was not going to happen. "These people think you will kill them all at the first chance."

She eyed him anew; her gaze ran up and down his armour and rested on his chestplate. It looked like a refusal to meet his eyes. "And you?"

"I can't risk that. I can't be around you forever."

"I promised to follow you. That can include orders."

So she had accepted him as her superior officer? He needed to test that first. "You will follow my orders?"

"Yes. I understood that you would not…abuse my loyalty."

"And if I ordered you to tell me who your master is?"

"That would conflict with more…binding oaths…I have made to her. Nevertheless, I could give out information that I would otherwise have not. Is this acceptable?"

"We'll see. Information?"

"Yes. My mistress does not truly serve the king; she's is one of the few people powerful enough to defy the king, if not the only one. Even he would not cross her without reason."

"What is she?"

"A person. Whether she is Shade, elf or human I do not know anymore. But I know that her power is on almost equal terms to the king."

He remembered a few of Raia's memories; how she had struggled with the spirits holding a grip over her for four hours before succumbing…how she had still retained her memories and personality instead of being rewritten like others. How the guards had attacked her without any provocation on her side, forcing her to kill them in retaliation and fleeing. A normal Shad could not be trusted, but this one wasn't exactly normal. "What makes you different from Durza?"

Her expression eased up and the faint, pained expression in her eyes softened. It was as if she was longing for something. "She saved me. My mistress prevented my consciousness from being burned out by the spirits seeking to harm me. It allowed me to continue living as me, instead of a collective consciousness. It was the ultimate mercy."

Spirits…he had heard that word a few times already. "What are spirits? How are Shades made?"

She sighed and lowered her gaze again. Her right hand slowly reached out to her side, while the other one clenched. It made her look vulnerable.

She didn't answer him directly.

"Answer me."

Her head snapped up when he raised his voice, as if he had scared her. "A spirit is…a name mortals have given to a race of incorporeal beings they cannot understand. They are the source of power for sorcerers and very hard to bend to your will. I…a Shade is made when these spirits possess a living being, where they…destroy what made that person a person. Their body gets twisted…and their mind will be forever gone."

"How did your…mistress…save you?"

The memory of her important person seemed to comfort Raia. She allowed her arms to relax and her voice lost the strained trait that it had assumed. "I can barely comprehend her powers at best. She purged the spirits from my mind."

"Did you summon those spirits?"

And then she lowered her head and looked away again. People that didn't control their emotions were so easy to read. He could already guess what had happened to her. "I did not. Someone else sought to create a Shade, to create havoc and chaos. I was used as a sacrifice."

"What happened to that person?" Maine asked the pained Shade mercilessly, forcing her to relive what had happened so that he could get a better idea of what he was dealing with. If her emotions were genuine, he might just be able to trust her. If she faked them, he couldn't.

"I killed his underlings…but he escaped me. To this day, I have met with no success in trying to find him."

Fair enough. "You said your master wants a rider for herself. Why?"

"I do not understand her reasons and neither do I judge them."

He raised his eyebrow upon hearing that. "The king has set his eyes on Eragon."

Raia nodded, immediately understanding the problem he was pointing out. "Two riders…two people to control them. One has been chosen by the king…leaving you to my mistress. She will seek to capture you now."

A female with enough power to purge beings that had enough power to purge the human mind was after him? '_That will be fun,´_ He thought bitterly and closed his eyes. Lances of pain shot up and down his chest, but he ignored those. Raia had proven to be trustworthy…enough. For the moment.

"And," The Shade then added, "my loyalty to you and her both will prevent me from interfering. When the two of you face off, my oaths won't allow me to pick a side. Might I ask a question now?"

"Granted," He told her without really thinking about it.

"What will happen to me now? The Varden hates me for what I am...and so does your dragon."

He nodded, understanding the problem. To him, Raia was an asset. A fallen and defected opponent that could be used to gain information. To Aeraleth and the Varden, she was a monster. A person that had attempted to do terrible things. They wouldn't trust her…but they hadn't seen his reasons.

And they didn't trust him either.

"We got off easy for now," He explained, "but once Ajihad or Nasuada hear from this, they will object. I won't let them hurt you."

Raia bowed to him, her red hairs waving around her pale face as she did so. "Your words humble me."

Why? He had only declared that he deemed her survival too important. That would insult most people.

"Nevertheless," Raia then said, "I cannot accompany you everywhere. Eventually, you will be taken to the elves for training."

"What?" He snapped, focusing on the last part of her sentence. Taken? Elves? Training?

The Shade blinked in surprise at his sudden increase in volume, but he did not otherwise faze her. "My mistress has told me this. Riders are trained with the elves…and after a few weeks of normal training, they and their juvenile dragon will be taken to their forest of Du Weldenwarden. Did they not tell you this?"

A stab of anger ran through his stomach and for a moment, he felt the desire to punch something. But he banished that foolish thought as soon as it came and tried to calm down again. "No," He hesitantly replied. He did not need training, he did not need to meet the elves and he did not need to be taken by anyone. All he needed was to march into the middle of the empire, murder the king and then overthrow their system. In the meantime, he could either run into something that would enable him to connect to the UNSC, or someone of the UNSC would run into him.

Raia sighed and crossed her arms. "I see. I could be wrong though; that information can be questionable at best. But if you go to the elves-"

"I will _not_ go to the elves," He growled at the redheaded woman. He had _better_ things to do!"

"_If_ you go," she clarified, "I cannot accompany you. Not all the way. I will have to split up eventually."

"What if you encounter your mistress again?" He asked her, allowing himself to be distracted.

"I would rejoin her. But that chance is not very high. She does not travel among the people very often."

The Spartan decided that, should the need arise, he would order the Shade to undermine the empire in some other way.

"I think I understand why you do not wish to seek out the elves," the woman then carefully told him.

He ignored that comment.

"But…forgive my insolence…I do agree with their reasoning."

"…explain yourself," he ordered her.

"I will. Your partner of mind and body…the dragon…she is still young. She needs to grow and learn and adapt. For her own safety…evidenced by the recent battle…she still needs to mature."

Raia had some good points. He hated that…but he had been unable to protect Aeraleth. If there were more Shades, or hostile elves or even Kull, he couldn't focus on both his dragon and them at the same time. She needed to learn to fend for herself at one point.

"And," the redhead continued, "you must learn how to control your magic. You used it to great effect, but you could have killed yourself with healing her. Without proper understanding of the ways of magic, you will end up harming yourself to a degree even you cannot withstand."

Again, a good point. But this time, there was something wrong with her statement. He could learn for himself –improvise, experiment and adapt. He didn't need to be taught like a child. "I don't need the elves."

"There is no 'one else gifted enough to teach you."

He looked up and looked at the Shade´s eyes. "You can teach me."

"Me?" Raia replied with shock, gesturing with her hand at her chest. "I am no teacher. I only know dark magic…and I don't think you trust me enough yet."

"Better than people I never met before," He replied. He would much rather not be taught at all, but Aeraleth needed experience that could only be granted through time. And she needed to be larger too.

"Perhaps you should think this through…" Raia softly replied. "I will guard the entrance of this structure until you want to move again."

The message behind that was clear enough and this time, he wouldn't ignore something like that. He couldn't keep working without rest: sleep was as dangerous a weapon as any gun was. And he knew when to push his limits and when to take an opportunity to rest and recover. Simply keeping on working when there was a clear chance to rest was foolish and dangerous; he needed to be rested and focused for the coming fights…and he had to think about a lot of tough decisions.

The Spartan moved to a darker spot, slid down the wall and closed his eyes again. It was time to have a nice little chat with Ajihad concerning the future…in roughly six to seven hours.

* * *

"_Ehm…captain? I have a report from one of our passing patrols."_

"_Well, don't keep me waiting too long kid! What is it?"_

"_Sir, a group of cavalrymen were found dead not too long ago. Their horses were stolen."_

"…_who would attack a group of horseback-soldiers without killing their steeds? No, don't answer that! Warn the guards to keep an eye out and contact the nearest city! Move it!"_

\- Unidentified officer and spearman, approximately twelve days after incursion of UNSC asset 2S-007


	10. Fickle loyalty

"_After years of covert information gathering, I have finally managed to reach a conclusion on the several foreign agents in the chemical cocktail added in the augmentation procedure. Just in case Parangosky or one of her pet agents finds out about this, I shall place the Intel-log in separate entries, for others to find should the need arise. I have been having increasing amounts of doubt regarding the creation of these Secret-Spartans…and the more I think about it, the more I think that all of this has been a mistake. We wanted to fight monsters and in doing so, we created demons."_

_\- Mental Health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield, logbook entry 4, 24__th__ of August 2552._

* * *

Eragon gasped when he saw just what was standing in the hallway, accompanied by a black dragon. It was at least seven feet tall, towering above even Urgals. Its armour –or skin, he wasn't too sure- was horrifyingly grey; no natural-occurring material was so dark. It almost looked black…and under the red glow of the dwarven Star Rose, it possessed a ghastly glow.

The thing had a red gem in the place where its face was supposed to be, more than ten inches wide and four inches high. The head almost looked like a helmet to Eragon, further showing that this might be armour instead of skin.

Eragon did not want to be anywhere near it, but as soon as a Dwarf had ran up to Orik with the message that an intruder was pushing into Tronjheim, he had had no choice but to go face the intruder. He had been busy with the test of his skills, at the hands of Fredric, the twins and Arya and he hadn't felt ready to directly attack a person yet.

Fredric had tested his skills with the sword, the twins had tested him with magic and Arya…had tested his techniques with the sword.

'_What is that thing?'_ He asked Saphira, but the dragon didn't respond. She was too lost in a vortex of emotions herself and she didn't even hear him. There were too many feelings seeping through their mental link and he couldn't fathom the half of them. The things that he did understand were the obvious ones: shock at the appearance of a dragon, horror at the appearance of the black monster and an overwhelming amount of fear and distress at …something about the newcomers

The dark figure held a black device in his hands, roughly three to four feet long. It didn't possess any blades, so it couldn't be a weapon.

For that, Eragon was thankful.

He wasn't sure who was taller, this thing or Arya. The elf stood higher than most men and that was one of the things that set her apart from the rest of the Varden, but this thing was big enough to rival her –and it was bulkier than an Urgal, that was certain.

And the dragon…it was even darker than its rider was and the deep, black scales held a certain beauty. But without knowing if it was an enemy or not, he could not freely admire it. The dragon was smaller than Saphira, for that he was thankful. Saphira was two times as large as the black dragon, meaning that she would most likely win in a battle if it came to that.

Very subtly, he looked aside and watched Arya's face for a second or two. Her expression was pretty much unreadable as always, but still he managed to glean off a few details.

Arya looked very tense and her eyes were slightly narrowed. Her lips were pressed tightly against each other, making her mouth appear like a thin line.

'_Does this thing spook her?'_ He wondered.

Saphira hissed loudly and craned her long neck forwards, hate and anger radiating off of her. He instinctively felt that she was going to attack –and that was something he did not want. The dragon felt real enough, but the grey rider gave off an almost inhuman feeling. The dragon could not have chosen an Urgal as its rider, so this thing had to be an elf or a human.

Unless this wasn't the rider of course. This might be a shade, having forced the dragon to serve him. But where did the dragon even come from? Shruikan was black, but he was also as large as a mountain. There were two other eggs under Galbatorix' control, but if any of those had hatched…wouldn't the Varden have known about that?

Wouldn't Ajihad, leader of the Varden, have known of that?

'_Saphira!´ _He shouted starkly, trying to gain his partner's attention. '_Calm down! Don't attack unless we are attacked!'_

'_It smells like death and destruction!´_ Saphira yelled back with equal force, sounding like she was straining herself to merely talk to him. ´_I must destroy it!´_

"I thought the twins were supposed to be scanning everyone at the entrance!" Orik shouted. "How did these two get in here?"

'_Perhaps he killed the twins?'_ He thought, remembering how much the two bald men had hurt him at the entrance. And again, during his test just a few hours ago. They had asked him to do something that was impossible to undertake with his current magical skills; something that might had killed him, had Arya not interfered.

The test seemed so long ago…the twins had most likely returned to the entrance, but where were they now? Had their unpleasant traits been the end of them?

"Who are you?" Orik demanded and stepped forwards. The dwarf was a direct nephew to the Dwarven king Hrothgar, so this rider could not be safe if he decided to hurt the dwarf.

"I would like to know that as well! What did you do to the twins?" Fredric shouted angrily.

Then again, it should not even know that.

"I am looking for the Varden," The grey-armoured rider spoke, his voice marking him as a male. He sounded like a human, but his vaguely-present accent was unlike anything Eragon had heard before. The deep voice also possessed a different quality; one of calm assurance…and a cold, calculating one. They seemed to be deeply intertwined with each other.

This person was not remotely shaken by the sight of a dragon, an elf and a dwarf under the mountain. Who was he?

"You have found them," Arya replied, her voice sounding as musical and exotic as ever.

"Who is your leader?" The armoured figure then asked.

Orik scowled and Arya's eyes narrowed even further, signifying her anger.

"Do you think you can just march in here and demand to see our leader?" Fredric shouted and hefted his battle-axe, readying himself to deliver a crushing blow. "Someone should teach you some manners!"

"Why do you wish to seek Aj- our leader?" Eragon replied, scolding himself mentally for almost spilling Ajihad's name. He had tried to make the weapons-master's comment sound less of a threat by showing curiosity, but in doing so he had almost gave away important information.

The strange, blood-red tinted helmet turned ever so slightly to his direction, making him feel like he was being watched by some hellish spawn. Durza's gaze had nothing to the unyielding, unflinching stare of this rider.

Eragon was certain that these two had come to the Varden to assassinate its leader. He couldn't let that happen.

But he was thankful to have Arya by his side, for his courage might have forsaken him otherwise.

The rider took two calm steps forwards and everyone instantly tensed up, preparing themselves for a violent battle.

Dwarves and humans had appeared on all sides, armed with bows and arrows ready to be launched when the situation demanded it.

Eragon swallowed and stepped forwards too. As a rider, it was his task to defend the Varden when an obvious threat had appeared. "Who are you?" he asked, but the newcomer ignored him.

Arya also stepped forwards, her hand slowly traveling down to the sheath of her strange sword.

"I shall ask one final time," She stated. Even though her voice still had a musical quantity to it, Eragon felt that it was obvious that Arya sounded angry. "Why are you here?"

The rider looked at Arya and took another step forwards, causing at least twelve archers to aim their bows at him. If they weren't careful, they might hit Arya in their volley.

"Your leader," The figure replied with his curiously sounding voice, "I need to talk to him."

Arya crossed her arms and Orik lost his temper. "Do you think you get to meet the Varden's leader after sneaking in like this, bringing with you a dragon? I ask of you, where did you get it? Only the king has access to the eggs! You must be sent by him! You should be very careful, lest we execute you!"

"Try," The newcomer challenged them, his voice dropping in volume but increasing in animosity.

Eragon couldn't fathom why anyone would dare a group with more numbers to 'try' and execute him, but he knew that he did not want to fight with this person. It would only result in the death of the people close to him and he did not want to harm a dragon.

Then one of the archers on the walkway above them lost his cool and released the string of his bow, sending an arrow plunging down towards the armoured figure.

But the rider moved with a speed that Eragon had never seen before, not even during his brief duels with Arya and Durza. The grey figure simply stepped to the side, letting the arrow sail right past him impact on the floor, shattering the wooden shaft.

Then, before any of them could realize what was going on, the rider snapped back and raised the black thing in his hands, pointed it at the unfortunate archer and-

-and the black dragon roared violently, causing Eragon to immediately clasp his hands against his ears. Orik and Fredric stepped back and even Arya flinched. The black dragon was in a healthy condition, that much was certain.

The unknown rider shifted his appearing weapon back and turned to face the dragon. Eragon recognized the action; the man was probably communicating via the unique bond that a dragon shared with a rider. The sheer fluidness and elegance of this one's movement was…astonishing. Inhuman. This being had to be a shade. There was no other option.

And then it hit him: the dragon had stopped the rider from retaliating against the archer! That must mean that the dragon was still in full control over its mind…so it was still in control over its rider as well. This could not be a forced bond like the king had with Shruikan, so this had to be a full rider!

And if he hadn't attacked them yet…what did it want? Was it playing a game with them?

"Who took that shot?" Fredric shouted and gestured violently with his armoured hands. "Nobody has given permission to do so!"

The rider turned his gaze back to them and –completely ignoring the excruciatingly tense atmosphere- aimed the weapon at them.

Saphira slowly shifted her attention from the dark rider to the black dragon, eying it curiously. Eragon felt intensely glad that there was one more dragon out there, but if it was here to attack them that gladness would quickly change into dread.

'_What do you think Saphira?'_ He asked his partner, '_What of the dragon?'_

But Saphira ignored him, staring intensely at the other dragon that, up to that point, had been focusing more on Arya, Orik and him.

But now that Saphira had turned her attention to it, the black dragon seemed intrigued in her too. It slowly walked forwards, not listening to the various cries of warning and distress from the guards, to get to Saphira.

As if the interaction between the two dragons was the foundation for all further negotiations, the present dwarves and humans all seemed to hold their breath and watch unflinchingly.

Eragon watched nervously as both dragons moved towards each other, every fiber of his body alert for any sudden movements. Saphira should be able to overpower the smaller dragon, but the same could not be said for its rider.

After a minute that felt more like an hour, the two dragons touched each other briefly with their noses, instantly retreating after that movement. He saw Arya softly letting out some air and Orik nervously fumbling with his beard. The grey rider still had his weapon aimed at them, paying no heed to the two interacting dragons. Eragon knew that if he were to interfere now, a fight would break out. This situation demanded their patience, otherwise it would only end in tragedy.

"Are the twins still alive?" Fredric asked the armoured man while the two dragons edged towards each other again, lowering his weapon as a sign of peace. "What did you do to them at the entrance?"

No reply.

Saphira softly snorted and smelled at the black dragon's flank, as if she wanted to make sure that it was a real thing. The other dragon did the same with Saphira's neck and like that, the two gracious creatures got to know each other.

After another minute or two had passed, his partner finally broke off the contact and edged back, without tearing her gaze off of the other dragon.

'_She is not our enemy,'_ Saphira explained to him.

'_She?'_ he replied with a shock. He had secretly been hoping that this dragon was a male, so that the two of them could work together to…prevent the dragons from slipping into extinction.

'_Yes. It is most unfortunate. However, we have…communicated with each other. Have you done the same with her rider?'_

'_No…I would not dare extending my mind towards something like that. Did she tell you what he is?'_

'_Only that he is her true partner-of-mind and that they wish for the Varden's help. She will do…but the rider won't. He simply won't. He smells too wrong…I can't stand him.'_

He scraped his throat and tried to get the attention of the people around him. "Saphira believes them to be sincere; they seek the Varden for help."

"She –that is, you trust them?" Orik asked Saphira.

She hummed deep in her chest and eyed the dwarf. '_Tell him that I trust the dragon…not the rider.'_

'_Saphira!' _he countered, feeling shocked. '_If I say that, they will want to lock him up like Murtagh!'_

'_Good. Let that demon rot away behind metal. Tell them to use a lot of locks.'_

'_Saphira!'_

'…_fine. But I will be keeping a close eye on it.'_

'_That is alright, as long as you won't threaten them.'_

'_Hah! I shall decide that.'_

"What now?" Fredric asked. "Do we let them in?"

"Ajihad will decide this," Arya stated, "it is up to him to allow them inside of the Varden or not."

Slowly, the surrounding soldiers eased up and lowered their weapons.

"Alright people!" The weapons-master then shouted at the gathering warriors, "Continue with your work! Nothing to be seen here! Move along!"

The grey rider slowly lowered his weapon, but did not place it back in its sheath –or wherever it was kept. His dragon threw one last glance at Saphira and then followed him as he moved towards them, as it was apparent that they were going to show him where to go.

Arya never let the rider out of her eyes and neither did her tension ease up.

Orik fidgeted with the edge of his axe and continued staring as intensely at the newcomer as Arya did, never faltering right to the point where he almost tripped over a rock, at which point Eragon quickly helped him stay upright.

"Accursed being!" The dwarf grumbled. "This does not feel right Eragon, not right at all. Morzan's son here is one matter, but this…thing?"

"So you do not know what he is either?" Eragon replied.

"No. We shall have to wait for Ajihad to decide, but until then…do not come anywhere near that one. He feels wrong."

"Saphira said something like that too! That he smelled of 'death and destruction'. I wonder what she means."

"Aye…so do I."

Eragon then turned around and watched as the giant man followed Fredric, who seemed to be as nervous as every other soldier that he had chewed out. He was a very unlucky man, to be the one to escort the rider to Varden´s leader.

'_Will Ajihad be alright?'_ He asked Saphira.

'_I hope so. He has treated us most courteously.'_

He swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat and stared at Fredric and the rider until the door eventually closed behind them. Arya had followed them, as if she felt like it was her official duty to accompany them.

Eragon knew that she was supposed to be the ambassador, so why was she following this rider? Was she going to test him too? Or did she think he was a completely different being altogether? No…that didn't make sense.

"I have seldom seen an elf get agitated like that," Orik told him. "If Arya is truly upset with that rider…I would not want to be him."

"Indeed," Eragon stated., remembering the raw physical power that elves possessed. They were stronger and faster than any man. "I would not want her to be mad with me."

But he still had the feeling that it wasn't only Arya whose wrath should be feared.

* * *

The Spartan entered a well-ordered, two-story study paneled with rows of wooden bookshelves. A metal staircase led to a small balcony with a table and two chairs, while white lanterns hung along the walls at frequent intervals. The stone floor was covered with some rug and at the far end of the room, a man stood behind a large desk.

The man was bald, black and in possession of a small beard. The air he gave off was an air of command, leading the Spartan to think that this man was in charge of the Varden.

That was positive. The doors were large enough for Aeraleth to fit in behind him and as he followed the elf and the man, he took notice of someone closing it behind them.

He remembered how important this man had been to the group of people that had been waiting for them. The situation had been about to escalate when the trigger-happy archer had shot at them. The only reason that he had not immediately slaughtered the entire flanking archway was…well, because Aeraleth had implored him not to. She had roared to get his attention and with impressive speed, she had formulated a message in-between the shot and his coming counter-attack. Its contents had been clear and he had withheld his fire, saving the archers from certain death.

The broad-shouldered man had entered the room first, to prepare the leader for the coming meeting. While he had been doing that, the Spartan had taken notice of the elf keeping a very close eye on him.

It had confused him. She was treating him with hostility, even though he was about to meet her leader. Not a clever thing to do.

"So," The man behind the desk said and clasped his hands behind his back, "a new rider has appeared? You took a lot of risk in knocking the twins out, for I understand that is why they were not accompanying them. "

He raised an eyebrow, surprised at how sharp this man was. It appeared that the Varden's leader was not as incompetent as he had thought.

Then the man paused and stared at him, eyeing his suit. "Take a seat."

The Spartan took a look at the richly padded chair and snorted in disapproval. "I'll stand."

"Very well. A dwarven runner is on his way to fetch the twins as we speak, so that they might continue their reading. But until that moment arrives, I cannot welcome you further yet."

He didn't care for welcome. As the dark-skinned man sat back in his chair and started staring at Aeraleth, he took the initiative to speak. But before he could think of anything that didn't went along the lines of 'I want information', the large-shouldered man stepped forwards and bowed himself to bring his head to the same level as the leader's.

Then he whispered: "Saphira and Eragon stated that these two are here for our help…they trust them sir."

The man's eyes narrowed and he placed his hand by his chin, thinking his words through.

Neither of them was aware that the super-soldier could hear every word they said.

'_Why is that elf so mad at us?'_ He asked Aeraleth. Not that he gave a damn about the elf's feelings; it was purely so that he might consider her animosity in the coming possible conflicts.

And so that he knew how to unbalance her should a fight be inevitable. An emotional enemy was a weak enemy.

'_Can you not guess? Your attitude and refusal to answer their honest questions were annoying to most, if not all of your future allies.'_

'_Not allies. Assets.'_

"Arya, Fredric, you may leave."

Arya nodded and turned around to leave, but the human wasn't so willing to leave. "Sir!" He said with shock. "I can't-"

"Now."

The man swallowed and hastily exited the office too, throwing the Spartan a wary look before he left.

Once only the three of them were left, the balding man spoke up again. "My name is Ajihad. I am the leader of the Varden. I understand that you snuck your way into Tronjheim –the city-mountain- after having incapacitated the twins, who were only going to search your mind for the truth. Is there any way I can not take this as a violent act?"

The Spartan sighed and replied with the answer that he had been preparing in his head ever since having heard that he would meet the man at the top. "I found the results of a battle, made my way to the entrance of what was thought to be a Rebel outpost and neutralized two obvious hostile elements. The twins survived because they were part of the Varden, but their actions identified them as the enemy."

Ajihad frowned when he heard that. "You talk like a veteran of combat. I am very curious to your origins, loyalty and arms but I must ask something else first."

Ajihad then waited for him to reply, but when he didn't the man continued nonetheless. "I need you to tell me how you, probably a kid, managed to get your hands on a dragon's egg when there are only two we know of."

"I acquired it," He replied.

"These eggs," Ajihad then clarified, "are in direct possession of Galbatorix. Not even our combined network of spies and agents has managed to steal one. It would be suicide to attempt it. Do you see the problem here? Without the king's consent, you could not have gotten a dragon's egg."

He saw the problem alright; normal humans were insufficient for a high-risk high-reward suicide mission. He was not a normal human. "I undertook an aerial insertion, breached a building and battled two shades. I accidentally encountered the egg, thought it to be a treasure of great value to the empire and took it."

"Impossible," Ajihad stated. "No mortal being can fight two shades at once. Only two people have been capable of killing a shade in the past; one an elf and the other a human rider."

He shrugged. "I killed one of them, here in the Mountains."

"The Beor Mountains? There was a shade here?" Ajihad suspiciously asked. "What did he look like?"

"_She_," He corrected, "had red hair, eyes and black clothes. She was a pain to kill."

"How was it done? How did you perform the kill?" The man urged him.

He straightened his back, remembering how he had murdered the female. "Crushed her internal organs, spine and then shot her in her head."

The dark-skinned man sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Then you did not kill her. Shades can only be killed by a thrust through the heart. Anything short of that will just cause them to vanish and reappear somewhere else. It is a painful process, but this new shade will appear stronger than ever. A female you say?"

'_Figures, ´ _He told Aeraleth. ´_Can you take over? I hate talking.'_

'_Then you should practice in doing so. You do an excellent job though.'_

'_You don't understand. I want Intel, but I won't share it. If Ajihad pushes me for classified Intel, he will be a threat.'_

Aeraleth softly growled and shifted her wings, which was something that Ajihad did not miss.

"Let me not forget you, oh dragon. Your part is as important in this as _his_."

Aeraleth hummed approvingly, delighted in the positive attention.

"I need to know if I can trust you two. And until the twins search your mind, I cannot."

Tough. "I need information; I'm not from around."

"I thought as much from your armour. Who are you then? Where did you come from?"

He hesitated for a few seconds, during which Aeraleth helped him think it through.

'_You seek his help. He has accepted your presence without fighting you. Can you not tell him what you told me?'_

'_I don't...'_

'_Go ahead. I shall assist when you need me.'_

'_Assist me now.'_

He scraped his throat- already feeling that it was getting sore- and started explaining. "I came from the stars-"

But his explanation was incredibly cut short. Ajihad jumped up from his desk and started cursing in some foreign language. However, he calmed himself down after a few seconds and sat down again. "From the stars you say…I must admit, those words ring with a looming threat. This explains…some things. Are there more of you?"

Ajihad's sudden change in words was unprecedented for and the Spartan contemplated his next words for a while. This was obviously an intelligent, open-minded man. The truth would be better.

"Our craft was understaffed…and took fire above Uru'baen. I jumped and caught the shades by surprise. Our ship then flew away, but I presume them KIA."

"What is the meaning of that last word?"

"Killed in action. Seven of them."

Ajihad sighed and ticked on his desk with his fingers while he thought about a new question. "I need you to tell me everything that befell to you. If you speak the truth…and you truly came from the stars…we have a large problem. Are you certain you are alone?"

"Positive."

"How did you bond with the dragon? Are you human or elf?"

"Spartan."

"Excuse me?"

"I am a Spartan."

"What is-"

"It is what you can call me."

Ajihad frowned. "Your attitude is more than troubling. You are in the presence of a leader…one in command. You would be wise to show respect…if you were before another leader, you would be killed for your disrespect."

He raised his head. "That other leader would have died."

The bald man shook his head and sighed. "A lack of realism that might get you killed. Your confidence in your own skill might be misplaced, if you failed to kill the shade. Still, you are a rider and you are now with us. I take it you wish to fight the empire?"

"Yes."

"Then we will need to test your skills."

That was not going to happen. "No."

He half expected Ajihad to protest again, but the man did no such thing. Instead, he leaned forwards and started explaining things again. Ajihad spoke about the Varden, their relationship with the dwarves and elves, their fight against the empire and their need for a rider.

"I have warned Eragon about this too. There are groups out there just waiting to get a hold on you-"

'_They are welcome to try,´_ He told Aeraleth.

"-and you will be the center of many political schemes. But for now, your identity is an enigma. Nobody knows where a new rider came from and they won't know how to deal with you. Tell them not about your star-born origin, for it will sew dissonance and regret."

"What do I say then?" He asked, feeling annoyed.

'_The same thing you always say; not a word!'_ Aeraleth replied with an amused tone.

Ajihad was silent for a moment before he replied. "I know nothing of you. Neither do they. Tell them no more than they need to know."

"Who is they?"

The dark-skinned man smiled. "Why, the crowds of course. Do you think any rider would go unnoticed? People will come to you with many things. Problems, dilemmas and difficult questions. It is up to you to live up to the name of the riders."

"No," He answered and stepped closer to Ajihad. "Now I want answers. First: what is magic?"

"Magic?" The Varden's leader repeated with a frown. "You do not know of magic?"

"As far as I know, it doesn't exist."

Then again, neither did dragons and he had been wrong at that point too.

"Magic…simple said…is the manipulation of energy. Magic is the art of thinking, in which you are only limited by your ingenuity and knowledge of the Ancient Language. But whatever you do with Magic, will always require the same energy as if you had done it with your body. If you lack the required energy, you die. The twins would be able to tell you more of this. If you lack any knowledge of magic, your power in the war will be far less than we could have hoped for. You need to learn and quick. Meet the twins. Talk to them."

Magic? The twins could teach him how to perform a magical feat?

'_Sounds convenient,' _Aeraleth stated.

´_Sounds frustrating.´_ He hated those two. In fact, he hated everyone he had met: the boy and his dragon, the dwarf and the elf and Ajihad. They were all frustrating and the very thought of them made his skin itch, his stomach and twist. It made him want to grab this bald man's head and-

He softly shook his head, taking a deep breath. Of course he didn't hate the people he had only just met. What was wrong with him?

'_Are you alright?'_ Aeraleth asked him, sounding worried.

'_Fine.'_

'_Your mind jumped, your walls crumbled. I felt some strange emotions…unlike any I have felt before.'_

'_Not now Aeraleth!'_

'_Peace little soldier. Calm your blood.'_

"Where else can I learn this…magic?" He asked, repressing all urges to kill to a little hole deep inside of his mind.

A new headache was acting up already.

"The twins can teach you some of their words…you could converse with Eragon and perhaps Arya would be willing to divulge some knowledge…but try not to attempt that unless you feel desperate. She is our ambassador and elves are…different."

"So are urgals."

"Urgals are not as easily insulted as elves are…and neither will they hold a grudge for as long. No, you must certainly not insult Arya. I say this as a kindness. And now you must leave. I have more important things to discuss now. At the moment, there is nothing you can do. I will have a messenger point the twins to you, they will take the next step in our…alliance."

"Any idea how to counter the army that's gathering in the nearby mountains?"

Ajihad frowned again, pausing in his words. "Come again?"

"Urgals. Hundreds of them. Mountains."

"I…have not heard of this before. If they are gathering for an attack then…I have many things to take care of. Be gone now, Spartan."

Said Spartan sighed and turned around, feeling glad that he could finally leave the presence of this man. He had learned a lot in the past hour and only the bare minimum of it all made sense to him. His headache was frustrating and distracting and he wanted to be alone with his companion for a while.

He opened the door and found himself face-to-face with the elven lady. She had been waiting for him to exit?

Remembering the warning he had received about elves, he placed the sidearm that he had hurriedly pulled out back again and stepped closer to the female, reducing their distance to mere inches.

Her exotic, strangely appealing face was very close to his and he only had to look down a few inches to reach her gaze. She stood taller than six feet, making her as tall as a well-built man. Her face wasn't the only exotic part of her appearance: a leather strap encircled her brow, restraining her long, black hair. Her feminine shape was clad in plan, black leather and a thin sword hung at her hip.

It was pretty obvious that this too as a nonhuman. Just what had he gotten himself into?

He stared at her and she stared right back at him. Her eyes had a certain demeanor to them…calculating, but not neccesarily cold. If she wanted to appear uncaring and cold, she was not doing a very good job. He could see in her eyes that she had been terribly hurt in the past. Physical or mental? It had to be physical, because she withstood his gaze and stared right back at him without faltering. Her willpower had to be very strong, but it wasn't strong enough to completely conceal the demons that she seemed to possess.

The Spartan reached the conclusion that the elven lady was still recovering from some unknown bodily harm and, after having stared at her for exactly three seconds since he had exited Ajihad's room, she blinked.

Her hard demeanor flinched; so subtly that it was barely visible and he wasn't even sure if he had seen it right, but he still took the moment to break their contact nonetheless.

He was certain that he could overpower her in combat, whether she possessed magic or not. She wasn't the biggest threat to him.

The other dragon was.

While the Spartan walked down the staircase again, he felt a strange sensation near his right foot. It had been there for a while, but it had intensified over the course of the past few hours. It had grown into a form of discomfort and he did not like that.

'_Aeraleth?'_ He asked the dragon. In this world of elves, dwarves and dragons he felt completely out of his place. He did not belong here, he understood that. `The only thing that linked him with any of the living beings down here was Aeraleth. Was his life in the UNSC truly over? Would he be stuck in Alagaesia for months? The battlegroup he had come from _was_ the reinforcements. They _had_ been the back-up. And he had no reason to believe that any of the other ships would come to their aid.

No, by the time the UNSC figured out where he was or even what had happened, more than simply a few months would have passed.

He was stuck.

'_What is it little soldier?'_

He did not know what to do next. Normally, he had a clear goal of what to do. A long-term strategy, multiple tactics or even a back-up plan. Now? The only goal he had was to free the eggs that Galbatorix had in his possession. And that was purely because Aeraleth wanted that to happen; he hadn't seen anything in the empire that justified the existence of the Varden. The only reason he hadn't sided with the empire was because they had attacked the UNSC first –something which the Varden would most likely have also done, had they had the chance.

No. These people were not his allies. '_Where do we go now?'_

'_Now you rest. You have been walking with an urgal's pace for ten days nonstop, without food and with barely any water.'_

'_I don't need rest.'_

'_Yes you do, do not presume lie to me. I do not know what befell you in Ajihad's office, but you were on the verge of murdering him without provocation.'_

That surprised him. '_No I wasn't.'_

'_Must I explain our joined minds once more?'_

He frowned, remembering the whole 'mind-join' thing with perfect clarity. Aeraleth was in his head; in his mind and among his thoughts. He couldn't hide anything for her.

'_I suppressed it. It's nothing.'_

'_Nevertheless, I require a calm place to straighten my own thoughts.'_

He could use a calm place too. '_Where to?'_

'_That I do not know. Were we not supposed to wait for the twins?'_

'_I don't take orders from anyone here.'_

'_Fair enough. Do you not wish to learn about magic?'_

He shrugged. '_It would be convenient.'_

The interior of this…Tronjheim…was positive for his traveling with Aeraleth. She could go almost anywhere where he could go and that was strangely comforting to him, for some reason.

They made their way to the room where they had been before the man called Fredric had escorted them to Ajihad. It was less populated now, as both the kid and his dragon had disappeared.

There was a lone dwarf standing there, his back rigid as he stood at attention.

"Greetings rider," The dwarf said with a very thick accent, "I must…escort…you to…the twins. They seek to…assist…you."

The little dwarf sounded like he had a hard time speaking normal, human words.

"Why?" he asked.

The dwarf stuttered when he replied, indicating that he was scared. "A-Ajihad's orders."

Whatever. He could use those twins to his own advantage. Should they want to delve into his mind again, he would kill them.

Or break their legs. That would be better the alliance.

The Spartan saw civilians everywhere he looked as he followed the dwarf through a series or tunnels. Dwarves, humans, males and females: all of them were staring at him like he was about to kill them and all of them were irritating him with their constant eyeing.

Of course, the super-soldier knew the reason for their staring. His appearance, coupled with his reputation as a rider, made him someone to be watched at all times. Surely some of these noncombatants had been ordered to keep a close eye on him.

Finally the slow dwarf reached an intersection in the large tunnel.

"Left lies a library," The dwarf said, having recovered from his fear-induced stutter. "Right l-lies an entrance to a w-watchtower. In t-there, your d-dragon can…fit." Or not.

He nodded at the dwarf and then turned left, curious as to whether the twins were going to be as arrogant as they had been right before he had knocked them out.

´_What do you think?' _He asked Aeraleth as he marched towards the entrance of the library. The tunnels in Tronjheim were all large enough to contain a dragon larger than her and many of the buildings were contained in enormous hollows, where dozens of structures had been erected. In theory, Aeraleth could fly most distances instead of walking. '_Is the tower sufficient?'_

'_I am traveling there now. It holds a dominant position over many buildings, that is certain.'_

'_But?'_

'_But it is too open. People might visit us, will that be a problem?'_

'_Yes. I can't store my weapons when civvies might hurt themselves with them.'_

'_I will just have to scare them away then.'_

'_Thanks.'_

He had his M6D sidearm, his MA5E Assault Rifle and two M7A/Caseless Submachine Guns. During his travels, he had come to rely on his Assault Rifle for every situation. As such, he had almost forgotten about the twin SMG's attached to his thighs. If the Varden would mobilize to take Uru'baen, those weapons would be vital to their victory. Where pistol and Assault rifle fire failed to bring down Brutes and Elites, the SMG's did not. Though woefully inaccurate at long-range, the M7 series has always been absolutely lethal at close-range.

And his SMG's had received an upgrade. Even though the rounds tore through flesh, bone and even metals with ease, they were still stopped by thick and heavy armour, like the plating of Hunters and vehicles.

The caseless rounds were coated in a 'jacket' that aided it in bodily penetration. However, ONI had managed to create a different coating for the rounds, causing them to adept armour piercing properties.

Without those AP properties, the soldiers of the Empire would all fall before his fire. With those AP properties…a single round could potentially kill up to four well-armoured soldiers.

But only at close range.

He didn't have much munition for his weapons though, Five 12-round clips for his pistol, six 60-round clips for his Assault rifle and eight 60-round clips for his SMG's. Recent developments in magnetic adherence had made it possible for him to store his ammunition without sacrificing mobility or space, but he found his arsenal limited nonetheless.

'_Shout if you need me,'_ He then told his companion.

'_I was about to tell you the same thing.'_

For the first time since having acquired Aeraleth's egg, he smiled. She was the only living being that he knew was worried about him. He met his fellow Spartans every now and then, but most of them were just like him: focused on the mission.

He was a weapon to ONI, hope to marines and death to the Covenant. But never before had he been something more than that. To Aeraleth, he was much more than a killing-machine. She cared for him despite of everything he did. To her, he was a person.

She was precious to him too. She was the first being that cared for him beyond a means for victory. He was not accustomed to that and it was difficult to deal with. But…despite his pitiful attempts at communication, the dragon had refused to leave his side. She honestly liked him and that made her important. As such, she would be his biggest priority until the UNSC could pick him up again.

The Spartan walked up a few steps and then walked through a door-opening, entering a rather small library. There were only one level inside of the building and the room he found himself in was roughly twenty by twenty meters, dominated by shelves with books. His motion tracker indicated at least seven humanoid beings scattered throughout the room –and two of them were very close to each other.

The twins. Magicians…mindbreakers and guardians.

The Spartan didn't trust them one bit.

He moved towards the two intertwined contacts, as quiet as he could.

'_Aeraleth, I got contact,'_ He told his partner.

The dragon immediately concentrated on him and brought her thoughts close to him, bordering near his consciousness to wait for something. '_I can join my thoughts with you, increasing your defense and protecting you against outsiders. But I need you to allow me in.´_

That alarmed the Spartan. ´_Stay clear of my memories! You´ll hurt yourself.´_

_´I follow your advice. I need you to steer me to the safe parts of your mind; your escort is vital.'_

He nodded and concentrated on the warm presence of Aeraleth in his mind, trying to suppress the thoughts that might harm her sanity. Eventually, he managed to create a place in his consciousness that was larger than all other forms of telepathy, allowing his dragon to intertwine her active thoughts with his.

He clenched his hands softly when he felt the dragoness' overwhelming presence. He had never truly understood the scale of her mind, the raw power that her consciousness radiated. She was a dragon, but the vast scale of her mind was beyond almost everything he had seen or felt.

It was unsettling in a way, but he also felt strangely comforted by the fact that she wasn't similar to humans. It made him feel like he was part of something above him, instead of below. That way, he could still do something worthwhile. His effort wouldn't be wasted, as this world was obviously important.

Aeraleth was the living proof.

Once he had intertwined his active thoughts with those of his dragon, he stepped around the corner and faced the twins.

They had obviously been expecting him, as his silent approach had not caught them off guard. Perhaps this was the same scenario as the one where an imperial spellcaster had found out about his approach without seeing him? There had to be a way to spot people from a distance to these guys, otherwise he would have been virtually undetected.

"You," One of the two sneered at him. They were both wearing their strange purple garbs and their hands were not visible.

"It seems that Ajihad has provided you with…safe presence in Tronjheim," The other one added. "He was done this without consulting us regarding you, rider."

"But as it is now, we have both committed wrongs. We apologize on our part."

The two then bowed to him, an obviously condescending gesture that he did not understand. But when he was not forthcoming with an apology on his own, their smug expressions changed.

Now they were unamused. "Ajihad has also told us about your lack of education."

His lack of education? He had had more than eight collective years of training.

"However, we were chosen to instruct you in the finer applications of magic. If you behave accordingly and treat us with the necessary…respect…we can make a deal."

"We teach you how to become a magician and in turn, you will join us,"

Their voices became more pleasant and their expressions lost their arrogance once again. "The few magic users who live in Tronjheim have formed a group. We call ourselves Du Vrangr Gata, or the wandering path."

Ajihad had told him that magic was employed by using words and then shifting energy with the mind. The twins had a group called Du Vrangr Gate, in which the word 'Du' meant 'the' and the words 'Vrangr Gata' meant wandering path, respectively. In having revealed this information to him, the twins had already taught him three new words that he could use.

"Your power in the mind, as we discerned from our little skirmish earlier, matches that of ours-"

'_I believe it was superior,'_ Aeraleth dryly stated.

"- and we would be honored to have someone with your…mental capabilities…in our group. We could teach you many things, like words of power and the ways of magic."

"In return?" He asked them, resisting the urge to kill these two where they stood.

"Why, in return we ask nothing!" The lead bald man then stated with a big smile.

"However, if you would see fit to share your own knowledge with us so that we might be able to better understand magic, we could help you better. Nothing would gladden us more," The other one then conceitedly added. "We are curious to that strange memory. What were you fighting?"

"Cut the crap," He barked, shutting the two babbling men up, "I don't care for your group. I need you to teach me magic ASAP."

Their eyes darkened and just like that, they dropped their façade of smiles. "We are not to be trifled with boy!" One of them snarled, his face a mask of anger. "We were ordered to teach you, but that can be most unpleasant! It only takes one misconceived spell to kill!"

'_Watch out!'_ Aeraleth told him, '_You hold no knowledge of magic, to use it against them would be futile!'_

He took that last remark of the twins as a direct threat and handled accordingly. He reached out, grabbed the first bald man by his bald head and then baldly slammed said bald head against the wooden shelf next to his bald body. The impact was gentle and weak, but it hurt the very bald man and that was what he had aimed at.

While the first one stumbled backwards with a bleeding nose, The Spartan grabbed the second one by his throat and effortlessly lifted him in the air. A mental attack barraged his mind, but now that he had indulged himself in combat he had slipped into a serene start where the attack could not faze him.

"Wrong," He growled at his victim, "Spartans never die. Tell me how to train myself in magic or I will crush your throat."

Despite his threat and actions, he felt at peace. He felt calm. This was what he had been trained for; to gather information, kill enemies and win missions. Mastering magic was another mission and this was a way to complete it. This was what he was good at. He had no desire to train with the twins; as a Spartan, he was extremely adapted at changing the rules in the battlefield. He could adapt to everything safe for civilian life and because of his capable intellect, mastering a new language would be easy.

"_You are among the few that has been chosen, not for your life but for your potential," _The words of Colonel Ackerson echoed in his mind. "_Your superior genes will allow you to strike back at those that destroyed your world."_

The Secret-Spartans were all smarter, stronger and faster than any normal humans. He did not need two arrogant magicians to train him; he would not allow anyone else to train him. He had been trained already.

"Y-yes!" The bald man in his grasp managed to utter. "T-teach y-your…self then!"

He let the man go and the robed magician slipped to the floor, gasping for air as he held his bruised throat.

"You will pay for that!" The man gasped as his bleeding brother helped him up,

"Your brutal force is nothing compared to our skills!" The one with the bloody nose hissed, his voice filled with malice and hate.

The Spartan pulled out his combat knife and started towards the two disgraced twins, but more violence was not needed.

"Fine!" The bruised one exclaimed. "Take a stone, pebble or piece of wood…hold it in your hands and use the words 'Stenr Reisa', or 'rise, stone'. The rest is up to you, insolent child!"

'_Not a child,'_ He told Aeraleth when the two men had scurried away. Why was it that battle-hardened veterans thought him to be a god of death, while inexperienced scholars thought he was a child?

'_Only the young ones can be bonded to a dragon. To anyone else, a beginning rider is a child. To me, you are a partner of mind and heart. Be at ease, young soldier, for you can still be considered a child.'_

He nodded, realized that she could not see him and then decided to try and so something for her too. He was acting rather selfish. She had done nothing but try and help him through tough times –it was time for him to live up to their bond for once. He had allowed her in his mind, so he might as well trust her with other things. When they were going to face tougher magicians, they would need to work together too. He couldn't have Aeraleth shell-shocked or traumatized by the things in his mind in the middle of an important fight.

'_Come join me at the watchtower, rider of mine. I wish to fly with you.'_

He frowned, remembering the problem that came with flying with his partner. '_Acknowledged, ETA two minutes.'_

Zero-zero-seven gave the disgraced and begrudged twins no more thought and exited the library. He would be very careful with experimenting with magic, as an overexertion would kill him. He didn't know of the rules of magic, but if he started with carefully lifting a rock, nothing would go wrong.

'_A stone?'_ Aeraleth later asked him in the watchtower. The stone tower was easily twenty meters tall and broad enough for the dragon to land, sleep and move around in it. He had stored his assault rifle and SMG's behind a nearby rock, at the very top of the tower.

'_Yes,'_ He replied as he lay back against the wall, resting his body while Aeraleth had curled herself up in front of him. '_If I can manipulate this, I can work at increasing its velocity.'_

'_Wouldn't a velocity too great exhaust you?' _She asked him with evident worry.

'_No,'_ He assured her, remembering how he had killed Grunts, Jackels and even humans with a thrown rock without breaking a sweat. And he could do that without his armour too. '_I can kill with normal thrown rocks. Accelerate it with magic and I have a MAC.'_

'_A what?'_

´_An magnetic accelerated cannon.'_

Or magic accelerated cannon, he realized.

'_How is…that…similar to this?'_

'_With enough force, everything is a weapon.'_

Aeraleth fell silent, contemplating his words. Or more than simply his words, as her next comeback completely took him by surprise. '_You have killed for a long time, yes?'_

'_Yes,'_ He said without hesitation. It was obvious to his partner that he had been trained extensively and his familiarity with combat had given his experience away even to the untrained eye.

'_But you are only nineteen summers old.'_

He was surprised that she knew that. '_Affirmative.'_

'_Was the war of your people so desperate that they required such young warriors?'_

She didn't know the half of it. '_The Spartans were unique. Thirty Spartans of the second generation, created more than thirty years ago and thirteen Secret-Spartans, created…more recently.'_

He didn't want her to know just how old he had been when he had been conscripted. It would disgust her and he didn't want her to be disgusted with him.

'_The rest of our soldiers were adults.'_

'_What sets you apart from the normal soldiers? Your armour? Why were you chosen?'_

'_I had the potential,'_ He replied. '_My home was destroyed when I was young. The Office of Naval Intelligence–the military research organization- came to me and offered me the chance to get back at the Covenant.' _Then he looked at the small rock, roughly two inches across, in his hand and muttered: "Stenr Reisa."

Nothing happened. As expected. These people might have grown up with magic in their lives, but he hadn't. He had never before used magic and prior to seeing the proof, he hadn't even believed it to exist.

Nevertheless, he persevered. He would never give something up if he could reach a victory with it and he had done stranger things with Aeraleth.

'_This Covenant destroyed your home?'_ Aeraleth softy asked. The feeling that she was currently sending through their mental link was called 'pity'. He did not want it. '_How old were you then?'_

'_Young,'_ He replied without emotions. He had long since moved on. '_ONI trained me to be the protector of mankind.'_ He tried again: "Stenr Reisa."

The Spartan felt a strange strain in the back of his mind, but otherwise nothing happened.

Curious. That strain seemed to be placed in his ever-developing mind-scape. If he could manipulate and fortify his own mind…could he find the source of that strain and remove it?

'_Then your new duty is not as bad as you would believe. You are the protector of the innocent here too. A rider, for more races than one.'_

'_Back with the military, I was fighting a genocidal alien collective. They were obvious enemies. Here, the only reason I fight against the empire is their attack on our ship.' _ He found speaking with his mind easier than speaking with his mouth. His mind was trained, his throat was not.

He dug into the origin of the strain in his mind and found a strange barrier; a wall that had not been there before. He felt that power resided behind the walls and that power might well be a magical one, created by the bond of his dragon.

The Spartan shattered the defense with ease and dug into the small spot, but he got quickly pushed back by the overwhelming power that radiated from the small pit and spread itself throughout his mind. Aeraleth looked up when she felt the wave of illumination bounce against her own mind.

"Stenr Reisa," He spoke again and then the rock shot in the air, halting roughly half a meter high above his hand.

The power threatened to slip away, but he renewed his power over it and grasped it tight. The rock wobbled softly, but it stayed put.

'_Look at that! '_Aeraleth exclaimed. ´_You performed magic! Do you still believe it does not exist?'_

The Spartan stared at the rock, not believing what he was seeing. The telepathic link could have been a symbiotic process, the twins might have had installed a code-word to activate a lamp and dwarves might even be naturally occurring. But this? This was him. He had, through his armour and energy shields, lifted a rock by speaking a word.

'_No,'_ He replied. '_Magic is real. And I can do it.'_

He felt no different from lifting the rock, even though Ajihad said that magical actions were equal to physical ones. But he could do many things that were beyond normal humans without breaking a sweat.

He could even kill with magic. Accelerate a pebble to extreme speeds and then send them through the skulls of whoever opposed him. An excellent makeshift gun.

'_Aeraleth?'_ He asked his partner and hesitated. '_Why did you pick me?'_

'_What?'_

'_You said that you could choose your partner. You chose me. Was it because I had freed you? Or because I was the first person to come across?'_

Aeraleth had great difficulty answering his question. Eventually, she settled for showing him strange images and emotions, before adding words to the mix. '_I am not too sure. I felt a strange and compulsive need to…protect…and serve…the innocent and the helpless. You were ideal. I just needed to forge you into a rider.'_

He hesitated; hearing her reason for choosing him was very similar to how he had felt in the past. She caused him such confusion and hardship…but she was so important to him. The only thing that linked him to a land that he could never have understood on his own.

She deserved better than him. But he would not let her know that she had made the wrong decision; he would work hard to make sure that she wouldn't be disappointed.

The Spartan released the flow of energy in his mind and let the rock go. There were new rules in the coming war…new tactics to be employed. He would have to reconsider so many things…but it opened up even more possibilities.

And Aeraleth…he had allowed the dragoness closer in his mind than ever. Her thoughts had been intertwined with his thoughts and she had given him her council when he needed it. She was trustworthy.

'_My name,'_ He told her as he laid back and closed his eyes, '_is Maine.'_

'_Maine…'_ She repeated. '_You guard your name jealously.'_

He didn't respond to that. He didn't need to. Aeraleth knew that he valued his name and he knew that she respected his secrecy.

'_The twins will make a formidable foe. You have pushed them too far,'_ She told him after a few minutes or silence.

'_I did what I needed to. Should they try to harm us, I'll kill them. And feed them to you.'_

Aeraleth snorted loudly. ´_You think I would want to eat them? Furthermore: you feed a hatchling. You feed a child. But you do not feed me. I choose to eat!'_

'_Aren't you hungry now? You have been nonstop.'_

'_I hunger alright, but I can withstand it. I am more worried about you; when was the last time you ate?'_

'_Two days ago.'_

'_And drank?'_

'_Two days ago.'_

'_I will not have you collapsing from self-denying.'_

'_We rest for a few hours, then find something to eat. Copy?'_

'_Copy,'_ Aeraleth replied, surprising him.

'_When did you learn that?'_

'_There are many things in your mind. I stray away from your memories, but the longer we spent together the more I learn about you and your mental state. I agree with the twins at one point though.'_

'_Yes?'_ He asked her, intrigued in what she had to say. '_Which is?'_

'_The memory that came up when they searched your mind. What was it?'_

He knew what she was talking about. It was the memory of him eliminating a group of Grunts, right before he had jumped at an enemy turret-position.

'_Two years ago, during a battle on a different world. They are called 'Grunts'. '_

As the Spartan told his partner about the physiology of the Covenant race called grunts, he tried his best to show Aeraleth proper memories of how they looked like, always leaving out the more sensitive details.

She was very interested in his past. In time, when she was accustomed to his mind, he could show her greater details of the Human-Covenant war.

However, there were still many things that he did not want to show her. He had finally managed to form a proper bond with the dragoness and that could be ruined extremely easily by letting her know more about him.

Some things had to stay buried whatever the cost.

* * *

_From what I have gathered, the effects of the three drugs might be a desired one cooked up by Section Seven to stimulate the animal part of the brain during stressful scenarios, as doing so will result in a major increase in stamina, endurance and aggression, but they did not think about the aftereffects and side-effects of adding such drugs in the combination."_

\- Mental Health Specialist Jennifer Sunfield, logbook entry 4, 24th of August 2552- continuation. .


	11. I choose to hate pt 1

Time was hard to follow when there was nothing that indicated its flow. The top of the mountain, a dozen miles in the air, was broad enough to allow sunlight to pour into the hollow mountain. Tronjheim was reasonably lit during the day, so the Spartan had a moderately good idea of how much time it took the Varden to prepare everything for Nasuada´s appointment as new leader. It took them the remainder of one day and then another full day to get themselves ready; a complete waste of time in his eyes.

It seemed that the troops of the Varden's army hadn't stopped with spreading rumors and gossip about him. On the contrary; everywhere he went, he heard people taking about him. They pointed and whispered and didn't make the slightest attempt to remain inaudible, as futile as that would have been either way.

"That's Spartan," a spearman whispered to an archer as the super-soldier marched past them, heading back to his watch-tower with a bag filled with medieval equipment. "They say he has slain hundreds of urgals on his own, before capturing and enslaving a Shade."

"Don't be ridiculous," the archer replied with visible agitation. "Nobody can capture a Shade. Eragon Shadeslayer was the one who killed Durza, remember?"

"Yes, but there were two Shades. I saw her, when Spartan and she were traveling through Tronjheim. Red hair, skin as white as a the winter's breath. It was her alright."

"If he truly captured a Shade, what business does he have keeping her alive?"

"I heard that he has forced her to swear fealty."

The Spartan rounded the corner and ignored the rest of the conversation of the two foot soldiers. He didn't know where those rumors came from, but they were frustrating. The longer he stayed with the Varden, the larger the chances of hard questions became. The Council of Elders had probably talked about their discussions –even though they were supposed to keep it classified- as he had even heard a few soldiers whispering of him and his 'Starborn origins'.

Had they been UNSC personnel, he would have executed the Council for treason. No officer of the United Nations Space Command would gossip about the details he had heard during an important meeting. This organization was undisciplined and weak. The longer he stayed with them, the more details he made out that annoyed him.

There were two things that really made his time in the mountain bearable; Aeraleth's company and the occasional technique and word that Raia taught him. She was there to make the war easier to win and that was precisely what he was going to use her for. Her allegiance be dammed; if she could teach him how to effectively use magic, he didn't care how loyal she was. She had had plenty of opportunities to attack or maim important Varden personnel and she hadn't. Whatever that crazy mind-link had done to her, it had also created a mutual understanding between the two of them. He understood that she was an outcast to all civilizations purely based on her appearance, which had caused her to flock to the one person that had shown her kindness. It was the way humans worked. She in turn understood…what, his otherworldly origins? His duty? He didn't even know what it was that she understood about him. After years of nonstop fighting and killing, he had become completely detached from the race that he was sworn to protect. He didn't understand humans, they didn't understand him and that was fine. It was alright.

The Spartan didn't yearn for understanding or kindness and that was the difference between him and the Shade. She had explained enough for him to understand her motives and that was important to him; to know his enemy. Raia served one person and one person only and the wishes of said person had simply coincided with the wishes of Galbatorix. Whether or not Raia's mistress actually worked _with _ the King was a completely different subject.

One that had been made impossible for her to speak about. The Shade had told him about magic and the finer workings of it; the forced truth that one had to endure when speaking in it, the results that the wrong words could yield and the way one had to speak them.

In a way, the Spartan was starting to understand it. Once committed to a magical act, he would be forced to complete it or die trying. As such, speaking in extremities was something he had to avoid at all costs. If he wanted to kill someone by forcing their throats shut, he wouldn't say: "force his throat shut", but "constrict his throat". The nature of magic was like a consciousness, unaware of the people using it. There were rules like the rules of physics and thermodynamics; rules that he could use to his advantage. He wasn't just manipulating his own body, but he was manipulating the world around him.

All with a few words. And if he made one mistake, he could end up killing himself. That was why Raia was helping him understand it; she taught him the rules, the basics and the words he needed to fight without harming himself. And that was also why he was currently hauling a bag of armour and weapons with him to the top of his tower; there was something that he had wanted to try out. He had been capable of lifting his spent casings by uttering the magical word for "lift", before throwing them with the magical word "throw" or "thrust". However, he had still been manipulating metals. If he could manipulate metals to a more…refined degree…he could change the face of a battlefield without having to use his scant remaining ammo.

'_Were you successful?'_ Aeraleth asked him upon returning to the tower.

'_I wouldn't have returned otherwise,'_ he told her and ascended the stairs that led to the large, roofless room where his dragon was resting. She had yet to understand his devotion to his duty; if he had a mission to achieve, he would do everything he could to see it through.

'_Would you have let me alone with her all day?'_

The Spartan marched through the door-opening and saw Aeraleth, curled up against a wall to fit her bulk into the room. On the far outer end of the room, two meters away (which was as far as possible) from the dragon sat Raia. Those two still didn't get along very well…why was it that every single female in his proximity went all weird? Arya hated him, Aeraleth hated Raia and Nasuada _discussed _with Raia about him. And when she was alone, the dark-skinned girl was suddenly as strong-willed as her father was. Why couldn't things ever be simple?

"Did you bring the gear?" the Shade asked him from her cross-legged position. She hadn't looked up to see him approaching; she simply knew that he was there. Probably by hearing him, or feeling the vibrations in the rocks. Or by magic.

His answer consisted out of him throwing the bag before her feet, where it landed with a heavy 'clunk'. Metal landing on stone always made such an audible noise.

"Good," she replied and got to her feet. "How is young Eragon?"

He shrugged. "Irrelevant."

"I suppose," she replied. "Is he still pained by the spasms in his back?"

"Yes," he told her. "Like I said, irrelevant."

"Is it?" she asked and reached into the bag with a slender, pale hand. "You will be going with the elves soon. Arya is the official envoy of the elves. She cares for Eragon and, from what I have seen, fears you."

She feared him? He thought that she hated him. Oh well. "So?"

"So," Raia continued and picked two swords out of the bag, "Your time there can either be frustrating or bearable, depending on your actions. I am intent on gaining the trust of the Varden, so that I might be able to be near them when you are with the elves."

Why was she certain that he was going with the elves? "What are you saying?"

'_Foolish little soldier; she wants to help Eragon with his wound!'_ Aeraleth clarified for him. Wait…how was _he _the foolish one?

The Spartan, who didn't like being called foolish and little, crossed his arms and frowned. "You want to help him recover?"

"Indeed," she confirmed the dragon's suspicions. "If I can help Eragon, the Varden will trust me that much more and Arya will be…easier to work with in the future for you."

That would be hitting two stones with one bird; an excellent idea…in theory. "Why would Eragon let you heal him?"

"Because," she clarified and threw a sword at him, which he caught with one hand. "Pain can destroy your rationality. It can either make your or break you and the young rider lacks the discipline to allow the pain to mold him."

"So?" he asked. "He could use some discipline."

"And the Varden can't use a cripple to be their hero. My apologies for putting it so crudely, Spartan, but they do not trust you…and neither do they want to. It is in everyone's best interest if I could help Eragon heal."

"When?"

"Soon after the dark human's ceremony," she replied and took a combat position. He immediately tensed up when he saw her, but Aeraleth remained calm. What was Raia planning to do?

"What now?" he asked her, eying the harmless sword in her hands. He trusted her…but he didn't get her. What did she want from him? Did she feel threatened? Or was she looking for a new weapon?

"Now, I want to teach you a technique that very few individuals know –and even few can manage it. It is considered dark magic, but the usage varies with parties. Nobody will recognize it as a practice of-"

"-I don't care," he stated. "What is it?"

"I see," Raia then said. The corners of her mouth curled upwards in a smile and her voice sounded bemused. "This technique was once used to hunt the Lethrblaka and the Ra'zac, as their tough carapaces were too strong for all but elves and dragons to break."

"Lethblaka's?" he asked.

"Lethrblaka's," she corrected him. "Leather flappers. An old race considered evil by many. They were said to have been extinct, but…the king employs two younger generations as his personal dragon hunters."

"What is the technique?" he asked the woman. He didn't particularly like the thought of dragon hunters working for the king. Aeraleth was in trouble enough as it was; if he added the threat of specialized units to his list of troubles, he wouldn't ever be able to make sense out of this Alagaesia as it was. This technique had been used to kill these dragon hunters, so he wanted to know it.

"It works the best with a reasonably sharp sword," Raia explained. "But in the hands of an expert, it can work with almost every sturdy weapon. Just…not those that lack elegancy."

"Elegancy?" he asked, feeling unsure if he had heard the right word. What did elegancy have to do with a magic technique?

"Hammers, maces, some axes," the Shade then quickly listed. "Those are too blunt to work with this."

"Which is…?" he asked her again.

"I have not yet mastered this ability, but I am certain that you can. It involves launching your weapon just like you can launch stones or pebbles. You turn a bladed weapon like this-" she hefted the sword- "into a ballista. It will be enough to penetrate even the thickest armours except those reinforced by magic."

"How does that work?" the Spartan then asked, eager to learn more about what was basically a medieval MAC. He had no idea what a Leth…lethr…Ra'zac looked like, but if he encountered one he could kill it without wasting ammo.

"The procedure is simple," Raia then explained. "But the execution is…less than ideal. No human can master it, for they lack the force and discipline to work with it."

"Humans can be disciplined," he snapped at the woman, remembering the many thousands of soldiers that he had fought alongside of. The most hardcore SOB's came out of the regular Marine Crops. She wouldn't insult them.

"You misunderstand," Raia quickly replied. "I meant no insult. With discipline, I meant mental capability. Reaction speed, if you will. I have only met one Shade who was quick enough to work with this."

"How does it work?"

"During combat, you will have to assume a position like you are preparing to throw a spear. But in fact, you are holding the sword. At the exact moment you launch the sword with your body, you will have to augment both your throw and your weapon. But the technique works the best if you are moving rapidly, as the extra speed will add greatly to the force."

The secret armour-piercing technique was throwing a sword? Fancy magic or not, that wouldn't work. "That it?" he asked the Shade.

"Don't underestimate this one, Spartan," she replied to him and placed a hand on her hips. "I have seen this attack penetrate half a meter of solid stone. If used correctly, you could even kill a dragon. But that chance is…slim at best."

Half a meter of solid stone? That was…pretty impressive. The super-soldier took a closer look at the sword, observing its traits. It was designed to be used one-handedly, like most short-swords were. For the technique, he would be throwing it while augmenting it with magic…while moving rapidly…nailing the moment precisely.

'_Aeraleth?'_ he asked his partner.

'_Yes Maine? I cannot assist you with this lesson; I fight with my own weapons.'_

'_That's not it. I want to use the wall behind you.'_

'_Agreed. You would need to have some distance. I shall wait downstairs for you, as Nasuada's appointment is growing near.'_

_Damn it…_he had totally forgotten about that. '_How long do we have?'_

'_Two hours at best,'_ Aeraleth verified.

The Spartan then waited patiently until the dragon had vacated the area, before readying the sword.

"How many weapons did you bring?" Raia asked.

"Six."

"Half a dozen. Why?" The female replied just as he swung the sword at the wall a dozen meters away from him, taking a step forwards to augment its force with his movements and bolstering its speed with magic.

The result was sloppy and weak; the sword spun horizontally and smashed into the wall, breaking in two segments and clattering to the ground. A deep gash was visible in the wall, but that was it. No half a meter of armour-piercing effects; just a slash.

"I said like a spear, Spartan," Raia told him. "It must not spin in the air, lest it loses all its effects."

That didn't make sense. His combat knife spun most of the times when he threw it at distanced enemies; it was simply what bladed weapons did when thrown. How was he supposed to this without messing it up? If he couldn't even figure out how to throw it correctly, how was he supposed to find that sweet spot in his movements, or the one moment that he needed to augment the sword with magic?

Raia hadn't lied to him; this technique seemed truly impossible. In the following twenty minutes he broke the remainder of the six swords, all of which perished in equally pitiful attempts to throw them like a spear. The Shade thought that he was training and learning like a warrior.

He thought that he was simply flinging swords at a stone wall.

It was frustrating when he thought about it; he had constantly been training and improving and learning at a rate that was deemed impossible by normal humans; Spartans could adept and change at an incredible pace. He was trained to use any weapon and vehicle, UNSC or Covenant. He had received extensive sword-disarming training to counter the Energy Swords of the Elites and he had changed his own combat style to engage Brute Chieftains with Gravity hammers.

So why couldn't he incorporate magic with weapons? He had used both of them separately to lethal effects; he should be fully capable of using both elements of combat. But that wasn't the case here.

He spent another thirty minutes using the remaining shards and pieces of broken steel in an attempt to replicate the feat that would allow him to slay the so-called dragon hunters, before there was nothing left to use. The waste of perfectly good weapons didn't bother him as much as the fact that he was simply _unable _to learn a technique that involved throwing a piece of metal at an armoured hostile. It frustrated him like no other and that level of frustration was surprising to him. Ever since he had gotten bonded to the dragon, his emotions had been running havoc. All the feelings that made him weak –anger, hate and annoyance- were all flowing freely through his mind. He had been stuck on the surface of this planet for at least sixteen weeks and with each passing day, his resistance to frustrations and annoyances grew weaker.

The lack of control disgusted him.

'_Maine,'_ Aeraleth gently prodded for his attention. '_The time is near. Let us move to visit the celebrations.'_

'_Copy that.'_

'_What about Raia?'_

'_She will stay here.'_

´_Fine. But you will have to deal with her future one of these days.´_

He ignored that last remark and turned to face the Shade. "It's time."

She inclined her head, understanding the hidden meaning behind his words. "What of my offer? Have you decided on that as well?"

"Go ahead," he replied. It wasn't his position to forbid her to act around other people. If she wanted to try and heal the kid, she was free to do so. In the meantime, he had a ceremony to attend.

The Spartan and the dragon then made their way to the place where they were supposed to be waiting for a little dwarf to show them the way. As it turned out, Tronjheim also had an underground amphitheater worked into its infrastructure. There was a steady stream of people moving into the large building and as the super-soldier entered its interior, he spotted Saphira standing on the row of stairs that cut upward through the tiers. There was another such a place to his right, where Aeraleth could stand until the ceremony was over. Eragon sat on the lowest tier, level with the podium. With him were Orik, Arya, the old dwarven king called Hrothgar, Nasuada and even the council of Elders.

The moment Maine stepped out of the shadows, Arya's head snapped up to look at him. The elf's senses were very keen; he had been moving with nearly soundless steps and not one civilian had spotted him, even though he had been moving behind their ranks to get to the position he wanted to take during the event. He had an idea of his own to integrate; both to give the Varden the hope that they needed that he was truly their ally as to fully establish the fact that he was a party of his own.

It took several minutes for the amphitheater to fill, during which the Spartan had made his way to the person he deemed most rational to stand next to; Hrothgar.

The dwarf looked ancient, his face was rippled and old and his beard nearly touched the ground. Yet his eyes were sharp and his expression was bemused. When the soldier approached him, the guards all snapped to attention and readied their weapons. While the blades weren't exactly aimed at the Spartan, he could imagine that they would attack him the moment he made a wrong move. Not that they would have a chance to attack should be had hostile intentions.

"Spartan," the king said with a rumbling, yet clear voice. "So we meet at last." He was inspecting the him with a hard gaze, which might even rival Aeraleth's impenetrable stare.

Maine inclined his head to the old man as a sign of respect. While he didn't gave a damn about the likes of Arya or the council, he could feel a strong air of command coming from Hrothgar. The man led his people through experience and wisdom, not rank.

He could respect that. "King Hrothgar."

He took a position right next to the sitting king, but continued to stand himself. He preferred to stand, really. The stone chairs might hold his weight, or they might not. But sitting often came with the risk of letting one's guard down and he didn't want that. That and he was simply more comfortable with standing.

He spotted Orik eyeing him with a suspicious gleam in his eyes and made a mental note to find out more about dwarf customs. He didn't want to accidentally insult someone like Hrothgar. It wasn't that he feared retaliation of some kind; it was just that it made dealing with the king easier in the future.

"You are a curious one, rider. You carry yourself with the calmness of an experienced warrior…yet you seem impatient."

Impatient? That was a possibility; most of the times, he didn't even know what he was feeling. The obvious emotions that he deemed to fit a situation he all banished from his mind and the more subtle ones he never recognized. He could be impatient, he could be restless…or he could simply be suffering from the aftereffects of Raia's drug.

When the king didn't continue, he decided to reply. "I prefer working with military operations."

Hrothgar stared at him for another twenty seconds, before speaking up again. "I am old, human. Even by our reckoning. Old enough to have spoken with the last leader of the Riders, Vrael, who paid tribute to me in the halls of my throne. I remember the peace they kept over the lands…even though they meddled in our affairs, they kept the lands save." Then the king paused, eyeing the Spartan with his keen eyes. Maine could appreciate the calmness and flow of their conversation; it gave him time to come up with an acceptable reply. Even though he could think many times faster than normal humans, he did not know how to act in a conversation that was not tailored to his next mission. "Tell me rider, and speak truly with this. Why have you come to Farthen Dûr?"

The answer to that was simple. "Information on and allies against the Empire."

"Then was it your desire for help that drove you here? Do you seek to gain help for your fight?"

You could not win a war without proper information. He might be able to destroy the empire on his own, but he had to admit that his time in the Varden had increased his prowess tremendously. Magic was a lethal weapon and he needed to learn more about it. "In war, you must know your enemy. I did not know the Empire."

"Do you now?" the king continued. "Do you know why you fight the empire? Do you know yourself?"

"They opened hostilities," the Spartan replied, quickly growing tired of the conversation. "They identified themselves as the enemy."

"So you fight simply because you think them to be the enemy? Is that your motivation?" the king asked and the corners of his mouth rippled upwards in a grim smile.

It wasn't. He fought to protect mankind; that was his ultimate goal. To do so, he would have to return to the UNSC. To return to the UNSC, he had to wait for ships to arrive. Alternately he could find the reason for the _When Duty Ends _being sent to Alagaesia. If Forerunners had truly been behind the slipspace-event, things were even worse than he could have imagined. Either way; bringing down the Empire was really just a way to pass the time.

…no, that wasn't it. It would the deaths of thousands of humans and that wasn't something he wanted to do merely to have _something _to do. He would destroy the empire because…because they had attacked the UNSC.

And more importantly, because Aeraleth would find her happiness in that. Galbatorix had eggs trapped and dragons were going extinct. For her happiness, they should be freed. He didn't care for injustice, for oppressed people or poverty. That wasn't his position to care about. He fought because that was what he was made for…and the Empire had simply aimed him against them. Their mistake.

"I fight because they made me the enemy. And because Aeraleth wants the remaining eggs freed."

Hrothgar's expression darkened. "The time of riders of over, Spartan. Even if the eggs were to hatch…the riders will never rise again."

That was not up to Hrothgar to decide. If the UNSC arrived at this world, they could help. The war with the Covenant was over and with an entire new world open with opportunities, a mutual diplomatic outcome wasn't impossible. There could be an exchange between gifts and options; magic for science. The UNSC could even bring the dragons back from the brink of extinction. All they needed was…well, the usual stuff for those procedures.

He was getting distracted. "We'll see about that."

"How old are you, Spartan?" the dwarf then asked him, but almost immediately after that sentence Jörmundur stepped onto the podium and gained the attention of virtually everyone gathered there.

"People of the Varden, we last stood here fifteen years ago, at Dreynor's death. His successor, Ajihad, did more to oppose the Empire and Galbatorix than any before. He won countless battles against superior forces and nearly killed Durza, putting a scratch on the Shade's blade. And greatest of all, he welcomed Riders Eragon and Spartan, together with Saphira and Aeraleth, into Tronjheim. However, a replacement must be chosen. One who will win us even more glory!"

Maine snorted impatiently. Glory? Since when was this about glory? The Varden stood for justice and change; they only fought the empire because they thought that the king was evil and mad, didn't they? So why would they be worrying about glory? There was no glory in war; those who thought otherwise had either never been in combat before, or were psychopaths.

Or religious aliens.

Someone high above shouted: "Shadeslayer!"

Jörmundur was smarter than that, thankfully. Eragon would make a terrible leader. `Perhaps in years to come, but he has other duties and responsibilities for now. No, the Council of Elders has thought long on this± we need one who understands our needs and wants, one who has lived and suffered alongside us. One who refused to flee, even when battle was imminent."

The Spartan had to admit, this second-in-command knew how to play a crowd. He made it sound like Nasuada was some sort of Messiah.

"Nasuada." With a bow, Jörmundur stepped aside. The procedure was simple: all the important people would go to the podium, say whether or not they agreed and then leave again. Arya was next. She surveyed the waiting audience, then said: "The elves honour Ajihad for his wounds tonight…and on behalf of queen Islanzadi, I recognize Nasuada's ascension and offer her the same support and friendship that we extended to her father. May the stars watch over her."

Islanzadi? Queen of the elves? If someone was bound to understand what mysteries this land offered –the reason for him being there- it would be her. If he could convince her of his origins, she might even support him.

Hrothgar took the podium and stated gruffly: "I too support Nasuada, as do the clans."

From the looks of it, Maine realized that he was next. He stepped up at the podium, looked around the building-

-and suddenly, he wasn't in Tronjheim anymore. He was staring at twelve high-intensity lamps, which bright and painful glares concealed the fifteen people sitting behind them, whispering about him. Judging him. Condemning him. He could hear their whispers; fearful, resentful and filled with disappointment. He was without his armour, covered in burns and wounds. Most of them had yet to heal, pressed upon painfully by the tight and official clothes he was wearing.

"_Why did you do it?"_

"_I had no choice."_

"As representative of the United Nations Space Command, I hereby state that we support Nasuada in her fight against the empire."

He blinked a few times and the memory of the fateful debriefing disappeared. He was standing in the underground amphitheater, where he had just stated that he was in fact with a faction of his own. The people started whispering and speaking to each other and even as he stepped down from the podium, passing Eragon who was on his way up, he could hear the ruckus he had caused with that simple statement.

"We support Nasuada as well," Eragon said.

Jörmundur made it official and gave another speech to the crowd after he had spoken to Nasuada, who had also stepped onto the podium. The people of the Varden screamed and cheered and Eragon stepped forwards once their sounds had subsided.

"Out of deep respect…and appreciation of the difficulties facing you…I, Eragon, first Rider of the Varden, Shadeslayer and Argetlam, give you my blade and my fealty, Nasuada."

'_Are you alright Maine?'_ Aeraleth asked the soldier as Nasuada gave her reply to Eragon and then started another speech for the crowd.

'_I hate podiums.'_

'_Do not worry little soldier. Nothing will harm you.'_

'_I don't worry.'_

Later that evening, once the ceremony was over and done for, Maine returned to his tower only to find a little boy waiting for him there. The kid couldn't have been much older than a year or fourteen. A messenger? What for?

The boy seemed reluctant to enter the watch-tower, which was probably a good thing. Raia might be loyal to him, but he didn't know much patience she had with children.

Still, he was certain that she would have less problems with the boy than he had. The moment he spotted him, Maine grew tense and hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do.

'_What is wrong?'_ Aeraleth asked.

'_It's a kid.'_

'_So? He probably has a message for you; Saphira has informed me that Eragon was contacted at least twice by a messenger-human-boy'_

'_I dislike children.'_

'_Alas! Who would have thought that the mighty Spartan's weakness would be a little child? Such a sad discovery.'_

He ignored her comment and tentatively made his way to the boy. His pale skin and brown hair made him look even younger than his face did. "What do you want?" he barked at the boy.

The child turned around and immediately stepped backwards, intimidated by the sight before him. "S-Spartan, s-sir! N-Nasuada has c-called for y-you!"

Right. He had wanted to talk to her anyway. "Fine. Get out of here."

The kid nodded and ran off. _That was easy._

´_Why would Nasuada want to meet me?'_ he asked Aeraleth as he entered the watch-tower, where Raia was waiting for him.

'_Eragon's route has been decided. Tomorrow, he will leave with Arya and Orik to head to the elves in their forest. You will join them.'_

'_Only to train in magic and meet their queen. No more.'_

'_I know little one, I know. Shall I wait for you outside?' _

'_Yes.'_

Maine entered the large room where his partner usually slept and was surprised to see Raia standing to his left, leaning against the stone wall with her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing a black cloak that covered most of her body, including her red hair. Her pale legs were hidden by brown pieces of fabric that were wrapped around the limbs from her crotch to her feet and there was no sign of her leather clothes. The only traits that might give her away as a Shade were her eyes, which glowed an eerie red underneath her hood. "So, ready to go?" she asked him.

"What?"

"Tomorrow you will leave for Du Weldenvarden, yes? I have come up with a solution for the problem that I pose to your relationship with the elves. They will not allow me in their forest."

"I understand."

"So I shall accompany you to Nasuada and relay my solution to her. After that, you can go and prepare…while I shall pay young Eragon a visit."

"Still planning on helping him?"

"I do. With your permission, of course."

"Whatever. Just keep your head down." He was in no mood to argue with her; the ceremony had drained him and between the constant memory triggers and the complicated traits of each race he had to deal with, he felt mentally weak. He just wanted to be away from this rock and out in the field, taking the fight to the empire.

Raia nodded and together, the two of them made their way to the waiting Aeraleth, who still remembered the path they had taken to Ajihad's office not long ago.

"What do you know about the elves?" He asked the Shade while they were walking.

"A few things. They are a peculiar race, elves. Of all the races in this land, they are among the ones that have changed the least. You can't rush them; they do things their way and not one other way. They are masters of manipulation and words, mostly because they speak in the Ancient language, which makes it impossible to lie. As such, they have learned how to speak one thing, yet mean a completely different other thing."

"Code-words?"

"Charged meaning. For example: they may promise to grant you a certain item, but do not mention when or in what state. Dealing with them is…difficult…for most races. Grudges can be held for hundreds of years, so they take great care not to offend each other. Too bad that they are very, _very _easily offended."

"Hundreds of years?"

"Just like Shades, elves do not age normally. They might live for a decennium, depending on the circumstances."

"How do you kill them?"

"The same as you would kill a human or dwarf. Just keep in mind that their physical prowess is…on par with mine as it was on our first meeting."

So all elves were as strong and fast as Raia had been? intriguing. His strength and speed were superior by far to Raia's, but without his suit…he might be on equal terms.

'_That would make for an entertaining duel, would it not? You versus an elf?'_ Aeraleth said.

'_Without my armour, yes.'_

'_Would not your armour make you faster and more agile?'_

'_No. It enhances my speed and strength; it is connected to my body in several ways'_

'_It enhances?'_

'_Yes. It increases my strength, translates my thoughts to movements and protects me.'_

'_Is that why you did not wish to take it off?' _

'_I can't take it off myself, but my people have the tech for that.'_

Eventually, they reached the part of Tronjheim where Ajihad's office was hidden. The Spartan did not feel remotely at ease with the new order of things; the sooner he was away from Tronjheim the better.

There were a few guards standing in front of the door. They tensed up and readied for a fight while one of them knocked on the door, informing the new leader of his approach.

Within seconds, her voice rang out and the guards stepped out of the way. A few suspicious glances were aimed at Raia's new appearance, but if they realized who she was, they didn't react to it.

There were a few different things in the room, but nothing too serious. A flower here, a vase there…and of course, Nasuada was seated behind the broad desk where Ajihad had been sitting before. "Spartan," she greeted him.

"Ma'am," he said.

She raised an eyebrow when she heard that remark. "I see that you are not incapable of speaking respectfully. What has changed?"

He hated having to interact with normal people –people that he could not identify with. He normally had only three kinds of people to deal with: hostiles, allies and superiors. Interaction with the former and the latter were simple and he wanted to restrict interactions with allies to the bare necessity. Now that Nasuada was the leader of the Varden, it would be easier to treat her as he would a Commanding Officer. It was less tiring for him and it would serve to increase her feeling for command. Even the toughest marine had to do a serious one-eighty when he assumed command for the first time in his life. "The situation, ma'am."

'_Maine,'_ Aeraleth gently told him, '_Ask her how her father is.'_

'_Why?'_

'_It will increase her attitude against you and make this conversation easier. She will be more likely to help you if you show empathy.'_

Was that how empathy worked? "How's Ajihad?"

Nasuada's expression darkened. "His fever broke this morning, but he is still very hurt. The urgals must have enchanted their weapons beforehand, because the wounds are not healing, even with Arya's healing. He will survive, but his recovery will be…slow."

Awkward silence. The muscles near her neck were tensed and her eyes had darkened. So much for showing empathy. "You wanted to see me?" he eventually asked.

"I did. Not every warrior with experience has the gift of tactical insight…but if I am not mistaken, you possess this insight, yes?"

"Affirmative."

"The dwarves cannot support us much longer. The Varden itself is overextended, poor and low on supplies. Considering this, I have decided to move the Varden to Surda. It is a difficult proposition, but one I believe necessary to keep us safe. Once in Surda, we will be close enough to attack the empire directly. What is your opinion on this?"

A bold move. "Do you have enough supplies to keep the people fed and clothed until you reach Surda?"

"We do."

"Can you work out the resource problem there? Recruit local soldiers and reorganize?"

"Better than here in Tronjheim."

He nodded. Surda was a country that supported the Varden; the situation would change for the better with this tactic. The best defense was often a good offense. "I see."

"Now then…by now I take it you understand that you will have to go with the elves to their forests?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. We need the elves in this war and Arya is the only person that can convince them to join us, as they have refused contact with both humans and dwarves ever since she has been captured."

_What?_ Were the elves seriously that stupid? Pulling out of a war that they had dedicated themselves to because of one individual captured? That was a fatal decision; one that had probably cost the Varden dearly.

"I have also asked for you for a different reason. I see that you have taken your…ally…with you. I wish to know what will happen to her; the elves will not stand for a Shade in their forests. It wouldn't do you any

"I know," he replied. "Raia?"

The woman stepped forward and lowered her hood. "I understand this Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad. And I have come up with the solution."

"Have you? Enlighten me."

"And I shall. The Empire has too much soldiers for the Varden to handle. Eragon and Spartan will be with the elves for weeks, perhaps months-"

_What? _

"- and in the meantime, your soldiers are outnumbered. You need mages and warriors. When Spartan is with the elves, I will fight for the Varden."

"You will?" Nasuada asked her, looking surprised.

"Yes."

Maine remained silent. Was this a ruse? A trap so that Raia could kill Nasuada? No…that couldn't be. This was something else. Why would she do this?"

"And I should trust this offer?" Nasuada asked, her voice sharp and her expression angrier than he had seen before. "Should I let a Shade run loose in my army without a rider to supervise her?"

The sarcasm was there. "The way I see it, your army will be defenseless against foes like the Ra'zac or other shades. Your soldiers would not notice me there…and my prowess on the battlefield is not to be trifled with."

"You do understand that I cannot accept this offer?" the Varden's new leader then softly said. "The risk is too high."

"Raia, I order you to follow Nasuada's commands until I return from the elves," he told the Shade and looked at Nasuada. "She swore fealty to me. I trust her. And so should you…ma'am."

"It will be done," Raia confirmed.

The girl looked at him with a dark expression. "So much for showing respect. You have forced me in a difficult position, Spartan. Only because you have saved my father's life do I accept this…Raia? You will not show yourself to the soldiers under my command. You will remain hidden until I call for you…and under no circumstance will you reveal your true identity."

"Yes…my lady," the Shade replied. Somehow, Maine didn't think that the two females liked each other very much. But for the moment he had made sure that his biggest problem had been taken care of. Well, his biggest problem besides being stranded on a primitive physics-defying world with no hopes of ever getting out.

But now that he had taken care of the Shade and Nasuada's new appointment, it was time for him to gather his things. Soon, Aeraleth and he would have to go to the elves. And that would most likely present a completely new problem… a problem that he could not deal with in a normal way.

But that would take a while. In the meantime, he couldn't afford to relax.

* * *

_**Day 18 - 24 hours later.**_

Arya overlooked the cavern, watching her companions as the last two doors of their journey split apart and bathed the tunnel in light. Her sensitive eyes took a while to adept to the new inpouring of light, but once they did she was able to see if everyone was still there. She could see Saphira craning her neck to get a better view of her surroundings.

It had taken them at least a full day to traverse the subterranean passage from Farthen Dûr to where they were now. The ever-lasting darkness and lack of conversation had played a twisting game together, making the journey feel simultaneously longer and shorter than it had actually lasted. She disliked the darkness, but preferred the silence. A few conversations she had had with other people had been spent with Eragon. The young human was inexperienced and naïve, but he was willing to learn and respectful to others. On one occasion, he had asked her why she had brought her own food without meat. She had tried her best to explain that most elves did not eat meat and that, after his training, Eragon would also forfeit meat.

He hadn't understood her. So few creatures understood her lately. Neither the dwarves nor the humans could understand the nature of an elf without really trying to and she didn't give them that chance. After her ordeal at the hands of Durza, what little trust she had for other sentient beings had decreased again. It was not something that could be expressed in words or thoughts…but torture changed you. It wasn't as much the scars that were left behind as the pain that had been endured, but it was the sheer fact that it had _happened_. Nobody in their right mind would think about the consequences of being tortured right to the moment that the ordeal would actually commence. It had hurt her mentally more than physically…and the worst thing was that she couldn't talk to anyone about it. Her own people were still waiting in their forests and the few allies she had with the other races were…untrustworthy.

Eragon and Murtagh had rescued her from Durza. She owed them so much more than she could ever tell them…but they could not actually help her. They had stopped her physical suffering, but her mental suffering had continued. Day after day she had to live with the memories of what had happened; the humiliation…the fear…the pain.

And all that made _his _presence even less tolerable. _Spartan _he called himself…the armoured creature whose name had not been spoken yet. He stood as tall as the tallest elf, with armour that made him look as broad as a Kull. His name was foreign, his accent was foreign and his appearance was alien. And he had been bonded to a dragon. Aeraleth was her name…and she was normal. She was fine. The dragon was just like Saphira was: healthy and savage.

But Spartan was _not _like Eragon was. Initially, she had despaired that such a naïve and inexperienced boy had become a rider. Sure, most of the people that were bonded to dragons were younglings…and she was barely considered and adult by the reckonings of her own people, so inexperience was to be expected. Eragon could be trained…he could change for the better.

Spartan was different. He was cold, calculating and disrespectful. He did not care for the feelings or circumstances of other people and the one and only thing that he thought about was war. Fighting…combat. Ever-lasting violence and bloodshed. At desperate times like those they were currently living in went such a state was good. But the armoured rider took it too _far_. His entire demeanor screamed _wrong_ at her. He deemed himself above the people around him and made no attempt to try and hide it. Virtually everything he said was related to combat and as if his appearance wasn't alien enough, he actually had the skills to back that up. The rider wasn't just an enigma; not just a strange factor that needed to be taken into account. No, he was a threat. He was unstable, violent and completely out of touch with the world.

He had even captured a _Shade_, of all beings. He had insisted on the vile creature having been at their side and then he had actually made the thing swear fealty to him. That had been the last straw; the last spark of hope that Arya might have had for him. After decades of having served as a diplomat and envoy, she understood that most people were not what they seemed. But she had seen enough of Spartan to understand that he was a danger. A danger not only to her, but to all of the Varden. Nasuada, Ajihad…Eragon. Even worse than that, the Shade had actually approached Eragon this morning. She had told Eragon that she knew of the fits of pain that his scarred back caused him and that she was capable of helping him.

And Eragon had accepted, that foolish child. Arya knew that pain could drive a person to desperation, but to actually allow a Shade to get close to an already vulnerable part of your body? That was foolishness. Even though both Saphira and Aeraleth had been there and the Shade had said that she was doing this to help the Varden –to proof that she was in fact different- but her past deeds spoke more than the new ones. After Eragon had met up with Orik and her this morning, she had used her magic to subtly search his body for any signs of trickery and dark magic. Even though she hadn't managed to find a thing when Durza had laid Eragon's back open, she had still been confident that the other Shade would leave traces.

She had found none. Spartan was playing with fire and he most likely didn't realize it. But if he did…if he knew just how dangerous a Shade was, as he had claimed to have fought them in the past –something that she still refused to believe- he would be no better than any of the Forsworn.

She would not allow him close to the boy. Eragon was too important and Spartan was too untrustworthy. While she trusted his dragon and the bond that she shared with her rider, she simply did not believe that the rider could be anything less than trouble. He had shown up without warning, nearly sparking a battle in the interior of the city-mountain. He had spoken without the accompanying respect to all of the important people in the Varden's inner circle…and during the battle for Farthen Dûr, he had _touched. _The cold, emotionless and dangerous rider had actually reached out and touched her during the battle. Sure, it had been in a foolish attempt to get her away from a situation that he wanted to oversee for himself, but still.

And his words were as strange as he was. He spoke of things that couldn't possibly be true; that he came from the stars, for example. Preposterous. That he wasn't from Alagaesia she could believe. His weapons and armour weren't made by humans from this land. But the stars? He must have held them for fools.

Eragon hurried to the two opened doors, looking eager to finally end their journey through the dark. Arya had to admit that she too wanted to taste the fresh air again; to witness the beauty of nature and feel the glorious sense of a warm breeze on her skin. After her time with Durza, she seemed to yearn for even the most basic stimulation that she had been denied by the Shade.

Perhaps that was why she disliked Spartan so much? Because he had allied himself with such a vile creature like a Shade? Because he wasn't from Alagaesia, he couldn't know about their threat. But that left a different question…how come he didn't learn? He seemed to be smart enough to discuss high-end tactical situations and convince even Ajihad to listen, so he wasn't all about fighting and death.

Or was it that his intense combat-prowess had scared her somewhat? She had seen him rampage through the urgal ranks; cutting through their toughest, best-armoured troops with ease and slaying Kull like they were bugs to be swatted away. He had been strong enough to deal death-blows with his bare, if armoured, hands and his knife. And his speed…it had been too fast for her to follow during the fight, she felt ashamed to admit. He was faster than anything she had ever seen before and that made him all the more dangerous for it.

Just what was the Spartan? He was bonded to a dragon, so he had to be a youngling. One with less experience than she had. But…he acted like a battle-hardened veteran soldier without emotions. What was Spartan? Who was he?

Orik followed Eragon to the threshold, looking over their destination. They were standing on a granite outcropping, more than a hundred feet above a purple-hued lake that glistered brilliantly under the eastern sun. Like Kóstha-mérna, the lake at the front gates of Farthen Dûr, the water reached from mountain to mountain. From the lake's far side, the Az Ragni flowed north, winding between the peaks until it rushed out onto the eastern plains.

They were going to stop at Tarnag, a dwarven city northwest of the city-mountain. From there they would take rafts along the river to Hedarth, an outpost for trading with the elves that hadn't been used in a long time.

The mountains to their right were bare, save for a few trails. But to their left was the dwarf city Tarnag. There, the dwarves had reworked the Beors into a series of terraces. The lower ones were mainly farms –dark curves of land waiting to be planted- dotted with squat halls that were built entirely out of stone. She had to admit that the view was nice.

"That is Celbedeil, the greatest temple of dwarfdom and the home of Dûrgrimst Quan –the Quan clan- who act as servants and messengers to the gods."

"Do they rule Tarnag?" Eragon asked.

"Nay," Arya told the boy and stepped past them. "Thought the Quan are strong, they are in small number, despite their power of the afterlife…and gold. It is the Ragni Hefthyn- the River Guard- who control Tarnag. We will stay with their clan chief, Ündin, while here."

It felt good to finally be able to return to what she knew; to serve as an ambassador between the races. It helped her focus and clear her mind.

However, the Quan clan would be a bother. Everytime she went there, a brief conversation with a priest would result in a major quarrel. Foolish dwarves that muttered into the air for help…it was ridiculous.

The path took them down to the edge of the lake before rising back towards Tarnag and its open gates. "How have you hidden Tarnag from Galbatorix?" Eragon asked. "I've never seen anything like this."

Orik laughed softly. "Hide it? That would be impossible. No, after the Riders fell, we were forced to abandon all our cities aboveground and retreat into our tunnels to escape Galbatorix and the Forsworn. They would often fly through the Beors, killing anyone they encountered.

Eragon jolted backwards with a cry as an animal crashed through the underbrush and onto the path. Arya's reaction was milder, as she had expected something like this to happen. She also knew the scraggly creature that looked like a mountain goat. It's giant, ribbed horns tha curled around its cheeks were distinctive enough. She noticed that the Spartan had immediately aimed his black crossbow-device at the animal, actually tracking it through the bushes before it had even appeared. His senses were keen, even though he was burdened by the armour that he simply refused to take off.

There was a saddle strapped to the back of the enormous goat and the unknown dwarf that sat atop it shouted at Orik, demanding to know whose clan he belonged to and what he was doing there. Orik in turn replied, telling his fellow-dwarf who he was, where he came from and that he had brought Eragon with him. The boy had accepted a most strange gift from the king Hrothgar; an offering to adopt him into his clan. Eragon had accepted and now, by all rights and purposes, he was a member of the same dwarf clan that Orik and Hrothgar belonged to. It was for the better, as all three major races now had a claim on him.

Orik and the dwarf continued communicating, before the dwarf –on some unknown command- took a large bound and disappeared in the treelines.

Feldûnost. Large goats on which the dwarves depended for a lot of resources.

The path that had concealed them for so long under the dark boughs, entered the great clearing surrounded Tarnag and already were groups of observers starting to gather in the fields. Seven Feldunost with jewled harnesses bounded out from the city, their riders bearing lances tipped with pennants that snapped like whips in the air.

The lead dwarf reigned his animal in and said: "Thou art well-come to this city of Tarnag. By otho of ündin and Gannel, I, THorv, Son of Brokk, offer in peace the shelter of our halls."

His accent was rough and unprofessional, but it would have to suffice.

"And by Hrothgar's otho, we of the Ingeitum accept your hospitality," Orik responded.

"As do I, in Islanzadi's stead," Arya added. She hoped that Spartan would speak those words that he had spoken at Nasuada's ceremony and perhaps grant her more insight in who his people were, but of course he remained silent.

Thorv appeared satisfied and mentioned to his fellow riders, who spurred their Feldunost into formation around the four of them. With a flourish, the dwarves rode off to guide them to Tarnag and through its city gates. The outer wall was thick and formed a shadow tunnel to the first of the many farms that were a part of the city.

Through five more gates they went, until at last they reached the rocky interior of the city itself. Unlike Tronjheim, this city was built for dwarves and only for dwarves. Saphira and Aeraleth- still smaller than the blue dragoness-barely fit into the city and they had to work their way past the various buildings. The cities themselves were busy and crammed; dwarves from various clans went about their daily lives only turned to look at the new arrivals when they heard the clattering hoofs of the Feldunost. Most of them didn't cheer like the dwarves had done in Tronjheim, instead choosing to bow and whisper 'Argetlam'.

At least, until they noticed the helm that Eragon was wearing. The helm that had been given to him as a gift by Hrothgar as a token of the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum; Eragon's new clan. Their admiration was quickly replaced by shock and, in many cases, clear outrage. A number of the angrier dwarves contracted around the Feldunost, glaring between the creatures at Eragon and shouting oaths and other…less pure-intended words. At one point, a dwarf reached in-between a pair Feldunost with a forging hammer- only for Spartan to promptly reach out, tear the hammer out of the dwarf's grip and shatter it in one clenched fists.

_Such strength._

The dwarf gasped in shock and pain –one of his fingers had been broken by the sudden movement- and Spartan threw the broken remains to the ground without as much as giving the dwarf a second glance.

Arya's case in point. He was needlessly aggressive and he would soon create a diplomatic incident that might just spark a new war. She disliked him…at best…but she would have to talk to him about that. He couldn't be much older than Eragon and Murtagh were –human ages generally ranged from childhood to young malehood- but his lack of self-restraint also showed a lack of experience and discipline.

The rest of the dwarves backed off at that brutal display of power and the group had a clear way to the main bulk of Tarnag, where the largest portion of the city would be waiting for them.

As they neared the hall, a group of armed dwarves streamed out from between the houses and formed a thick line, blocking the street. Long purple veils covered their faces and dropped over their shoulders, like mail coifs.

Arya didn't recognize them.

The guards immediately reined in their Feldunost, their faces hard and limbs tensed. "What is it?" Etagon asked Orik, but the dwarf only strode forward, a hand on his ax.

The elf couldn't help but notice that Spartan was closely following the dwarf, pulling out his combat knife with blatant aggressive intent. She cringed when she saw that; it would only give the dwarves more incent to stop them. "

"Etzil nithgech!" a veiled dwarf cried, raising a fist. "Formv Hrethcarach…formv Jurgencarmeitder nos eta goroth bahst Tarnag, dûr encestirak kythn! Jok is warrev az barzûlegûr dûr dûrgrimst, Az Sweldn rak Anhûin,môgh tor rak Jurgenvren? Né ûdim etal os rast knurlag…" for several seconds, the dwarf ranted with growing spleen.

"Shut up," Spartan barked at the dwarf with a voice unlike Arya had heard before. She had heard the rider speaking on several occasions; his voice was hard, gravely and rough, like it didn't belong in a throat used to talking. But it also had elements of uncertainty and command in them; a testimony to Spartan being unsure of his surroundings. But now? Now his voice was completely devoid of the normal emotionless disinterest. It sounded low and threatening…and even Arya felt the need to step away from the rider as he spoke. He sounded like he was ready to murder the dwarf and that intent had obviously been clear, as the raving little creature stopped shouting for a moment to look at Spartan.

"Vronn!" Thorv barked and started a new argument with the elf. Despite the heated levels of their discussion, Arya could see that Thorv respected the other dwarf.

Then Eragon made a mistake. He shifted to the side –perhaps trying to get a better view past Thorv's Feldunost- and the veiled dwarf abruptly fell silent, jabbing with his finger at the direction of Eragon's helmet with increasing agitation.

It only he had stayed quiet. "Knurlag qana qiränu Dûrgrimst Ingeitum!" he screamed. "Quarzül ana Hrothgar oen volfild-"

"Jol is frekk durgrimstvren?" Orik interrupted quietly, drawing his ax. Arya dared to look away from the confrontation to look at Spartan and felt a tang of dread in her stomach when she saw him pull out the grey weapon that had murdered so many Kull with only one movement. The rider was not one to pull a weapon out for no reason and if he had _any _idea what this situation could unleash, _any _idea at all, he would put his weapons away at once.

But she dared not to speak now. The slightest word could make this meeting into a bloody massacre and then they would lose the allegiance of the dwarves.

The dwarf stared at Orik with a hard expression, before taking an iron ring out of his pocket. During his movement to retrieve the piece of jewelry, Spartan aimed his weapon at the dwarf with exaggerated slowness. He needed to be patient; he needed to allow this to happen. Any wrong movement could set this all off…she didn't want that.

The dwarf plucked three hairs from his beard, twined them around the ring and threw it onto the street with an impervious clink, spitting after it. Without a word, the purple-shrouded dwarves filed away. At the same time, she felt the consciousness of something vast brushing against her mind. She made no attempt to defend herself though, as she recognized it as the dragon Aeraleth. Despite the seriousness of what just had transpired, she didn't want to offend a dragon by ignoring her.

So she pushed her dread away and responded to the call. '_I mean no insult, oh dragon, but the timing of your first call is very poor.´_

_´I am aware of that, Arya. I just wanted to let you know that my rider… was ready to murder all of these foolish-veiled-dwarves the moment they appeared. How high are our chances of running into them again?'_

Arya didn't know which was worse; the meaning of what the dwarf had just done, or Spartan's coldblooded desire for death. Both were equally troubling but only one them could be fixed by training with the elves. She truly hoped that her kin would be able to fix his state of mind, because if they didn't…Spartan might be tempted to join Galbatorix.

And she wouldn't allow that to happen. If the armoured rider proved to be a true lost cause, she would take it upon herself to deal with him.

'_We shall not be in Tarnag long. By all means, they should not be hindering us.'_

'_Thank you.'_

Aeraleth was trustworthy –her mindset was similar to Saphira's. She hadn't been influenced by her bond with Spartan, but it was only a manner of time before he did something that would hurt her.

But why? Why had she chosen him? Could it be…could it be that she had been mistaken? Nobody knew where her egg came from…could Galbatorix have found a way to curse her egg without her realizing it?

That line of thinking made her shudder, so she quickly dropped it.

"It means, you have enemies," Thorv explained to Eragon when the boy asked what the ring meant. Their group continued down the road until they reached a large courtyard, with three banquet tables, decorated with lanterns and banners. A group of dwarves was standing in front of the tables.

One of them was the clan-chief of Dûrgrimst Quan, the religious clan. They exchanged some pleasantries, but Orik merely showed the ring and explained that it had been given to Ergon by the Az Sweldn Rak Anhüin clan.

Ündin, the clan-chief of the Ragni Hefthyn, said that he and the other chiefs had to consult on that matter. But for the time being, he had prepared a feast for the arrival of the riders. Servants of his clan would bring Eragon and Saphira to their quarters, where they could refresh themselves and prepare.

Arya didn't miss the suspicious glares that were thrown Spartan's way.

The two clan-chiefs approached Orik and Arya with solemn expressions in their eyes and she knew that they were going to discuss the gesture that the veiled dwarves had made regarding the riders in their city.

But as it turned out, they were only going to discuss the measures that would be taken to further protect the four. Extra guards would be assigned and the gates to the stronghold would be barred. All in all their conversation lasted no longer than thirty minutes and before long, they were free to visit their own quarters and refresh themselves.

The banquet, later that evening, existed out of the standard dwarf food. Meat, stews, fruits…everything they had to throw a loud and noisy party.

There was also a large Nagra; a creature native to the Beors. It was a giant boar, easily as large as a horse, with tusks as large as a man's arms. It took six dwarves to carry it and all that Arya could think of when seeing the roasted animal was how it must have looked when it was still alive.

The clan-chief tasted the food first, as was their customs. He would test it for any poisons that might have been slipped into the food's preparing. When he deemed it good enough to eat, the rest of them could also dine.

It occurred to Arya that Spartan was not present. Aeraleth had seated herself at the head of one table, just like Saphira had done with theirs, but the rider was nowhere to be seen. Curious. Even though he never seemed to take his armour off, one would think him gracious enough to thank the dwarves for their hospitality by simply being there? He wouldn't want to insult them with his absence, right? And what of his partner; would he leave the dragon all alone during the entire evening? Such a thing was unheard of. A rider that would abandon their dragon…

Eventually, Eragon kindly reminded the clan-chief that Saphira was not simply a mindless beast and then asked for the reason behind the thrown ring.

Arya smiled. The farm-boy wasn't such a fool after all.

Undin put down his dagger, scowling thickly. "The knurlagn you met are of a tragic clan. Before the Riders' fall, they were among the oldest, richest families of our kingdom. Their doom was sealed, though, by two mistakes. They lived on the western edge of the Beor Mountains and they volunteered their volunteered their greatest warriors in Vrael's service." Anger broke through his voice with sharp cracks. "Galbatorix and his ever-cursed Forsworn slaughtered them in your city of Uru'baen. Then they flew on us, killing many. Of that clan only Grimstcarvlorrs Anhüin and her guards survived. Anhüin soon died of grief and her men took the name Az Sweldn Rak Anhüin, The Tears of Anhüin, covering their faces to remind themselves of their loss and their desire for revenge."

It was a most tragic tale indeed.

"So," Undin said, glowering at a pastry, "they rebuilt the clan over the decades, waiting and hunting for recompense. And now you come, bearing Hrothgar's mark. It is the ultimate insult to them, no matter your service in Farthen Dür. Thus the ring, the ultimate challenge. It means Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhüin will oppose you with all their resources, in every matter, big or small. They have set themselves against you utterly, declared themselves blood enemies.

"Do they mean me bodily harm?" Eragon stiffly asked.

Ündin's gaze faltered for a moment as he cast a look at Gannel, then he shook his head and uttered a gruff laugh that was louder than the situation warranted. "No, Shadeslayer! Not even they would dare hurt a guest. It is forbidden. The only want you gone, gone, gone." Yet Arya wondered whether such bitter creatures would really obey the rules that were set by their own. "Speaking of gone; where is the other rider? I have been looking forward to speaking about his beautiful armour."

Arya remained silent as Eragon replied. "I do not know. Perhaps he has gotten lost, or is still busy with something else?"

_Or perhaps he deems himself above the pleasantries of a festival? Or, another possibility, he does not wish to be with those he travels with?_

A curious case, this Spartan.


	12. I choose to hate pt 2

"_Our new alliance with the Sangheili is…most fortunate for our technology levels. However, we cannot afford to allow them to continue recovering from their war efforts. If they were to grow in power once more, they could wreak havoc in the UNSC's ranks once more. Keep your Operations going Colonel, but do not allow any of our Secret-Spartans to work with them. I don't want any of the remaining twelve assets seeing the Elites as anything less than a hostile that needs to be put down."_

"_Admiral, our Spartans have spent years fighting the Elites. It would take them years to even get used to not killing those aliens on sight, let alone tolerating them."_

"_Are you trying to argue with me, Colonel?"_

"_N-no ma'am! I'll make the call right this moment!"_

"_Good boy."_

_Conversation between Admiral Parangosky and Colonel {REDACTED} - Confirm security clearance Alpho-4 with the nearest security officer_

* * *

_"Speaking of gone; where is the other rider? I have been looking forward to speaking about his beautiful armour."_

_"I don't know."_

* * *

Secret-Spartan 007 eyed the street across of him carefully, watching for anything that moved that he had not seen prior. From his kneeled position underneath a rock outcropping he could see three dwarves scurrying across the stone path, heading for their homes to rest the coming night out. They would think that the darkness was filled with monsters –that they were safe in their houses.

The Dwarves got the first thing right. They messed the second thing up.

Luckily the Spartan was not after them. With Eragon and Saphira keeping Aeraleth company he was free to hunt down his true targets. Aeraleth was a big girl; she could fend for herself when the time came. The problem was that these streets and houses were built for tiny people. Tiny people that meant her harm. They might mean him harm too, but they couldn't really hurt him. No, in their stupidity they were more likely to attempt to harm the dragon, which was something that he could not allow.

The hostility of the veiled dwarves was something that he had already anticipated. His presence in the Varden had stirred up a hornet's nest purely because he was a rider. These dwarves seemed to have a problem with Eragon, who was a rider. They had a problem with him, as he was a second rider. How to get to him? Through his dragon. If the dwarves hated riders they would know that particular fact.

He wanted to persuade them to leave his ally alone.

There were a few of the bearded dwarves standing on top of a stone wall, guarding for the night. The last dwarf closed the door behind him and with that the Spartan had a five-second window before one of the guards would turn around again.

He burst from his cover in the darkness and made for the nearest door –the door that led to the same hall as the veiled dwarves had filed into after their stupid attempt to threaten Eragon and him. They thought that they could get away with threatening him and his companion, so he would change their minds.

He reached the door, which was luckily made out of wood. Most likely because the bold people wouldn't be able to open them again once they were closed. Nonetheless, he pried the lock apart with his knife and a small amount of force. The door clicked open and the Spartan quickly entered it before anyone could see him. Then he closed the door again.

The first thing he saw was that he was inside of some sort of barracks, or a hall. The room was elongated and littered with tables that held dozens of mucks and platters. It was most likely dinner-time. Good.

He could hear the heavy-toned chattering of a trio of dwarves and he quickly backed up towards a nearby door. When he gently pressed against the opening mechanism, he found the door to be open. Good. A quick check indicated that it led to a staircase and his motion-sensor indicated that there was movement close to him. Nobody was close to him, so the movement had to be above or below him.

He wanted to bet above.

The three bearded people entered the hall and he exited it, making sure that the door was closed behind him before they saw him. He wasn't going to kill any of these veiled dwarves, as that would only give hem incentive to open hostilities against him and his dragon. He was going to supply them with a meager and subtle reason to not mess with him.

He moved up the stone stairs, his footsteps completely inaudible and his approach hidden by the lack of sound. The stairs led to a small room without widows and only one other door. There were a few desks scattered throughout the room and an oil-lamp lit the area up enough for one dwarf to be reading a scroll. Good. Their veils made it difficult to identify the leader, but any member of their clan would do. They had been riling the civilians up all night and soon, the dwarves would all want to banish the riders from their city. In order to prevent that, he had to decrease their standing. He had to make it risky for the dwarves to join this clan, without making his actions so violent that the victim would become a martyr for hatred.

So no violence.

He walked up to the lamp with two small steps, grabbing a blanket that was lying on one of the tables and turned it off and stepped right back into the shadows. The room was now completely devoid of light and the dwarf gave out a startled but soft cry of surprise. As the veiled fellow stumbled towards the lamp, Maine wrapped the blanket around his right arm, shot out and snaked it around the dwarf's neck. He forced his throat against the tough metal –now wrapped in silk to it wouldn't give him away- and started to choke the dwarf with his armoured armpit. It took him mere seconds to force his victim to pass out and the second he did, he dropped him.

The Spartan marched over to the door and forced it open, hoping to find either a certain item or a window.

He found a stash of rocks, a metal helmet, a few daggers and a coiled rope. Excellent. Now there were a few ways for him to get out again. He could create a distraction by using magic, but he might risk exposure. He could probe the room with his mind for hostile magicians, but that might give him away too.

While he worked on the dwarf with the thick rope, he thought of a way to escape without identifying himself as the aggressor. He had already struck one of the dwarves so he couldn't back out now even if he wanted to.

He looked up at the ceiling and saw a few stones pressed together in a curious pattern. Then he glanced at the door and realized that, despite the size of the inhabitants of this building, it was pretty large.

Large enough for a plan.

He jumped at the wall, pushed himself off gently and hit the ceiling. Then he pressed his limbs in-between the rocks and forced himself to stay still. The rocks crumbled and pieces of dust fell to the ground, but they held him. Good enough.

Now for the distraction. He dropped off the ceiling again and scattered the papers across the ground, making sure that the entire floor was covered with them. The floor was stone, the walls were stone and the ceiling was stone. This house wouldn't burn down with what he had in mind.

Checking the oil-lamp to see if it had enough fuel, he pried a section of the rope apart to create small strands that were thin enough for a man to miss them at first glance. He wrapped those around the handle of the lamp and connected them to the door, which he closed to suspend the thin rope tightly between the lamp, a rock and the wooden frame. If someone were to enter the room and throw the door open any rougher than normally, they would pull the lamp off the table and throw it to the ground-

-which was covered with very dry papers. A distraction like no other: fire.

He went over the plan one final time and then lifted the tied-up dwarf. The rope was folded up neatly enough for it to escape anything but a severe inspection and the thin wires would burn up in the fire.

The Spartan lifted his boot and smashed it down on the floor hard enough to crack the stone. Below him, the voices stopped. Another violent curb-stomp was enough for the dwarves to start uttering cries of alarm and already, the door to the staircase opened up. Good.

He performed the same maneuver and jumped up at the ceiling at the moment that the voices rose to a climax. Two seconds later, the door was thrown open and a trio of dwarves barged into the room. The oil-lamp was pulled right off the table, fell onto the papers and broke into pieces. The oil spilled out, the fire caught and then the entire floor was engulfed in dangerous-looking flames that wouldn't burn longer than a few seconds.

But the room's single light had also been taken out and in that same movement, the Spartan pushed himself from the ceiling and through the now-open door. The dwarves were too busy panicking over the harmless fire and never noticed him –or his prisoner.

The way down to the hall was clear, but he knew that it would only be a matter of time before someone else would show up and call his position. He was running out of chances to get out unnoticed.

He exited the staircase and moved towards the door. His dark suit made it possible for him to go unnoticed in the shadows and seeing as the sky had already been darkening when he had started this operation, not many people would notice him on the streets

The Spartan opened the door and moved to the street just as another four dwarves ran out of one room, chattering and mumbling from underneath their veils.

They never saw him.

Zero-zero-seven looked to his right and noticed a guard that was about to turn towards him. He immediately flipped over a nearby wall and knelt deeply, keeping his head down just to be sure. He risked peeking over the edge, saw that the coast was clear for about three seconds before another group of dwarves would enter the large street.

With his veiled and unconscious captive still with him, the Spartan made for the nearest roof and moved upwards from there. No deaths, no permanently wounded dwarves and nobody who had spotted him. He was in the clear and free to complete his operation.

* * *

The dawnless morning after the feast, Eragon found himself in Ündin's hall, listening as the clan chief spoke to Orik in Dwarvish. Ündin broke off as Eragon approached, then said: "Ah, Shadeslayer. You slept well?"

"Yes," Eragon replied and. The Clan chief then explained that, seeing as the clan of grieving dwarfs was putting too much pressure on the town, they would need to leave the next morning.

"However," the dwarf added, "Grimstbo rith Gannel has invited you to Celbedeil for the day. Accept if you wish, you will be safe with him."

Eragon didn't like that the chief seemed to have forgotten his previous statement that Az Sweldn rak Anhüin would not harm a guest. His thoughts briefly traveled to Spartan and whether he would be safe or not. But he discarded those thoughts as quickly as they had come. The other rider was strong enough to fend for himself either way and his sympathy for the boy had disappeared when he had seen his dragon, black as the night and every bit as beautiful as Saphira, sitting all alone at the table that evening. Of course she and Saphira had enjoyed themselves, but a dragon should never be without their rider.

Eragon then spent a spent a few minutes by traveling to Celbedeil together with his guards. By the time the sun was slowly rising, he had already reached the prestigious temple After climbing several floors, the passed through an intricate copper door into a wooden room. Gannel was there, sparring with three other dwarves.

The priest was an impressive fighter. He disarmed his foes with a fast flurry of blows and then turned to face Eragon when he was done. The rider had to admit that he was nervous about the prospect of talking with the priest, but once Gannel had made it clear that he wanted to each to Eragon the ways of the dwarves, he felt his nerves ease up.

"Come," the priest then said and led Eragon through five grand corridors, stopping in the archway to a dim chamber hazy with incense. There, Gannel explained, stood the statues of many important dwarf-ancestors.

Eragon listened for at least half an hour as the clan chief explained the intricate ways of their religion to him. However, Arya soon joined them in the temple and it became very apparent that she held no respect for the dwarven religion. She and Gannel engaged each other in a verbal and –from the dwarf's side- heated debate about the gods and the ways of the clan Quan. He couldn't for the life of him understand what Arya's problem with Dûrgrimst Quan was, but he also couldn't understand why the priest was so…vivid…in defending his beliefs. He made it sound as if Arya had insinuated that gods didn't exist and that everyone who thought so –namely, the dwarves- were foolish idiots.

After a few minutes, Arya raised her hand, stopping Gannel. "That is the different between us, Grimstborith. You devote yourself to that which you believe to be true but cannot prove. There, we must agree to disagree." She turned to Eragon then. "Az Sweldn rak Anhüin has inflamed Tarnaq's citizens against you and Spartan. Ündin believes, as do I, that it would be best for you to remain behind his walls until we leave."

Eragon hesitated briefly. He wanted to see more of Celbedeil, but he also didn't want to risk a fight. But above all, he didn't want to leave Saphira's side. And neither did he wish to ignore Arya's wishes.

So he bowed to the priest and excused himself. "You do not need to be excused, Shadeslayer," the Clan chief said. He glared at Arya and then added: "Do what you must and may the blessings of Güntera, our ancestor, be upon you."

Together, Eragon and Arya exited the temple. Then they trotted through the city, surrounded by a dozen warriors. The sun had risen now and the shroud of darkness had been lifted. As they walked, Eragon could hear the shouts from an angry mob on a lower level. He bent over the ceiling to see what had happened and was surprised to see that, despite the fact that one of the dwarves threw a rock at him, their anger was not directed at him.

A tower stood in-between two houses, standing easily thirty feet tall. A small ridge was visible right at the top, where a marble statue of an armoured dwarf stood. Right underneath that statue, on top of a very thin edge, was a member of Az Sweldn rak Anhüin. At first Eragon thought that the dwarf was riling up the citizens, but then he noticed that the he –or she- was in fact tied up. A think rope suspended the dwarf's hands to the wall and another rope was drawn across his stomach. He was furious, screaming and shouting. Someone had tied the dwarf up at the very top of that tower…but who?

"What," he asked Arya, "happened there?"

Arya frowned. "It appears that not everyone agrees with Az Sweldn rak Anhüin. You must have allies in the city Eragon."

He couldn't help but feel sorry for the dwarf. He must have been standing there for a long time, as morning had just arrived. You didn't deserve that for speaking your mind, even though you were hateful and angry about it. Whoever it was that was tied up there, he hadn't done anything to cause Eragon physical harm.

Not yet at least.

"Come," Arya said when the shouts of the mob became worse. Eragon couldn't tear his gaze off of the poor dwarf though, leading to the elf grabbing his hand and gently guiding him away from the scene. He blushed at the soft touch of Arya's and hoped that she didn't see the reaction she had elected.

"I didn't think I would cause so much trouble," he softly told her. "If I knew…I wouldn't have accepted Hrothgar's offer."

"it was the king who was foolish to bring you the offer in the first place," Arya replied.

Once they had arrived in the main hall where they were residing, Eragon grabbed his things and started to ready himself. He noticed that Spartan was also in the hall; the armoured rider was tinkering with a few darkly-coloured powders and bits of metal. Was he gathering spices for dinner? Eragon had never thought him to be the type who gave much thought to his food. Then again, there were many things he didn't know about Spartan.

'_Soon,' _he thought to himself, '_I_ _am going to have a conversation with him and find out more about him.'_

He made his way to the courtyard, where fifty heavily armed dwarves and Arya soon joined him.

"They fear that the crowds may prevent us from reaching the rafts."

"Saphira and Aeraleth can fly us out," Eragon replied. The two dragons had also nestled themselves in the courtyard, although Saphira was lying with him and Aeraleth was waiting for her rider to join her.

"Snowfire as well?" Arya replied, remembering Eragon of the horse that he had promised to Brom he would take care of. "And Ündin's guards? No, if we are stopped we shall have to wait until the dwarves' fury rescinds."

They waited a long time, as there wasn't anything else to do. Spartan was still gone, but Eragon was glad to have the opportunity to talk to Arya. The problem was that he had no idea what to say to her; she was an elf and by default, elves were very difficult to understand yet extremely easy to insult. He didn't want that.

Finally, Eragon gathered the courage he needed to ask her the question he had been meaning to ask her for a long time. "Do you have any family in Du Weldenvarden?"

It took a long time for Arya to answer him. He must have hit a sensitive spot. "None that I am close to."

"Why…why is that?" He asked. Something about the way Arya replied to him made him feel that she was trying her best to hide her emotions again.

"They disliked my choice to become the Queen's envoy and ambassador; it seemed inappropriate. When I ignored their objections and still had the yawë –the sign of trust for elves- tattooed on my shoulder, I indicated that I had devoted myself to the greater good of our race. My family refused to see me again."

"That is cruel," Eragon remarked. He hesitated for a moment and added: "And that was seventy years ago?"

Arya looked away, concealing her face behind a veil of hair. He tried to imagine what it must have been like for her- ostracized from her family and sent to live among two completely different races. It explained why she was so withdrawn. However hard he tried to imagine what it must have been like for her, he simply couldn't. The scale of that pain was beyond him. "Are there any other elves outside of Du Weldenvarden?"

Still keeping her face covered, she said: "Three of us were sent forth from Ellesméra. Fäolin and Glenwing always traveled with me when we transported Saphira's egg between Du Weldenvarden and Tronjheim. Only I survived Durza's ambush."

"What were they liked?"

"Proud warriors. Glenwing loved speaking to birds with his mind. He would stand in the forest surrounded by a flock of songbirds and listen to their music for hours. Afterward, he might sing us the prettiest melodies."

"And Fäolin?"

This time Arya refused to answer, though her hands tightened on her bow. He realized that it must be a very sensitive topic for her and he quickly tried to change the subject. "Why do you dislike Gannel so much?"

She faced him suddenly and touched his cheek with soft fingers. Eragon flinched with surprise at what had to be the second time he was touched in a gentle way by her. "That," she said, "is a discussion for another time."

She pulled her hand away and was about to relocate to a different place on the courtyard, when Spartan suddenly exited the hall –closely followed by Ündin.

"Arya, wait," he told the elf, who gave him a confused glance. But then she noticed the armoured figure and immediately tensed up.

"There has been a change in plan," Ündin said as soon as he had reached Eragon. "Spartan and I have discussed the best action to take and we have agreed on you moving out of Tarnaq tonight instead of tomorrow-morning."

"Tonight," Eragon exclaimed with alarm. He was tired and he wanted to sleep. He had no desire to move out in the middle of the dark night. Who had come up with that idea? "Why?"

"Because," the chief replied, "Az Sweldn rak Anhüin might expect you to leave in the morning. They might take actions to prevent that from happening. No, nobody will suspect a departure in the night.

Eragon glanced at the red visor in Spartan's helmet. Even though he was a rider, Eragon was treated like a child that needed to be guided and escorted. He got reprimanded for foolishness and the people in command like Ajihad and Ündin expected him to follow orders. And he understood that; he really did. He was young and inexperienced and he had no doubt that clan chief's and leaders knew better how to maneuver than he did.

Why then, was Spartan not limited by the same burdens? How come that _he _could discuss matters of great importance with the people they encountered, while Eragon was being kept in the dark?

'_Be at ease, little one,'_ Saphira told him. '_Spartan is a creature that knows only how to kill. When it comes to fighting tactics and ideas, he has great wisdom. When it comes to everything BUT battles and combat, he is as helpless as a hatchling.'_

'_How do you know that?'_ He asked. '_He seems competent enough.'_

'_It is obvious to me, little one. He never talks, does not show himself during formal events and ignores the workings of the world around him. Even the most skilled predators will eventually get killed if they do not heed the call of nature.'_

Saphira calling out that Spartan was far from perfect eased Eragon's heart, but he had his doubts about the truth of her statement. Saphira could not stand the dark rider, even though she liked his dragon. Could it be that it was her opinion shining through her words, instead of her wisdom?

'_Why do you dislike him anyway?'_ he asked. '_I mean apart from the way he treats others. You hated him from the beginning.'_

'_I already said this. He smells like death and destruction; more so than the urgals, Kull or even Ra'zac. I do not understand how Aeraleth stands to have him near her.'_

'_Perhaps because he does not show his skin?'_ Eragon mused. '_Perhaps he is scarred, or sick. Perhaps he thinks himself too hideous to show his face, so he wears his suit?'_

'_I do not know. His partner-of-heart says that she has seen his head, but…she did not speak many details.'_

"We leave in the night?" Arya verified. "Is this acceptable with your guards then?"

_She is actually accepting this?_

"It has already been discussed," Ündin replied. "Orik is readying himself. Someone has assaulted a member of Az Sweldn rak Anhüin. It has caused…much strife among the clans. They demand to know who did it, while other clans state that they had it coming. Such a deed…bold and perhaps necessary to take them down a notch, but also cruel and unnecessary. He had been stuck up there for hours at an end, having disappeared from his house last night. It still took two hours to get him down after he was discovered."

_Two hours!_

"So you have three hours to prepare yourself until we leave," the clan chief then spoke. "We shall set out to the lake then."

Eragon thanked the dwarf and sighed softly when the latter left again. He wondered what the elves were going to do with Spartan. Sure, the rider might be a force to be reckoned with, with his deadly weapons and his disciplined demeanor, but he still lacked the refined skills of interacting with people.

He yawned and lay back against Saphira. It wouldn't help him to continue musing on things that he couldn't really change anyway. There were strange forces at work surrounding the armoured rider, but at the very least his Shade companion had helped out. Eragon wouldn't have believed it, but…after the events after Durza's death, his opinion had changed somewhat. The evil sorcerer had leaked his memories onto Eragon and he had almost succumbed to them, had he not been saved by a mysterious force in his mind that called itself the Mourning Sage. This 'Sage' had saved him from the clutches of insanity and told him to go to Ellesméra, where his training should be completed. He hadn't told anyone but Saphira about the mourning sage, but…he had understood that a Shade want a hundred percent evil. In the end, they were simply people that had been taken over by evil spirits. And if a Shade were to somehow retain their memories –by means unknown to him- the personality of the previous person could also be retained.

Raia had used a strange form of magic to alleviate the intensity and frequency of the pain that his back caused him. He had yet to encounter another fit with the intensity that had plagued him before and he had not encountered any new side-effects. She had honestly helped him.

So Spartan had been right about her in the end; she had truly not been like any other shade. It also explained how he had dealt with her during the battle; he had most likely managed to appeal to her sense of humanity…or something in that direction. Only elves could hope to match the power of a Shade.

Lost in his thoughts, Eragon soon fell asleep. It didn't take much to wake him up again though, as he felt someone prod him in his side not soon after he had fallen asleep. He groggily opened his eyes and saw that the dwarves around him were already busy tying rags around their feet, to muffle themselves for the coming hour. They could get into serious trouble if they made noise during their exit, so it only made sense for them to quiet themselves.

After he had donned his clothes, Ündin had him tie rags around the claws of Saphira and the hooves of Snowfire. He eyed Spartan during his work and saw that he was already done with wrapping his dragon's claws with those quieting clothes. Despite his large, steel gauntlets the rider still managed to work faster than Eragon did. It frustrated him, but he didn't understand why.

Ündin offered Spartan more rags and Eragon heard him say something about "own feet".

The armoured rider refused the rags and Ündin grew frustrated. This time, Eragon could hear what was being said.

"You will make too much noise Spartan! If my warriors need to quiet themselves, so do you!"

To which Spartan replied: "I won't need them."

The tone of his voice made the skin on the back of Eragon's neck prickle and he quietly thanked whatever deity he was supposed to believe in that Spartan wasn't talking to him. The rider couldn't be much older than Murtagh was and Eragon could not for the life of him imagine Murtagh speaking to his elders in such a way.

Oh Murtagh…he shouldn't have died. He wouldn't have died, if not for that cowardly tactic of the Urgals. No man should die in such a way…Eragon would much rather die fighting than stabbed in the back.

"We are providing you security," Ündin angrily hissed. "Our warriors are risking themselves just so you can leave this city unopposed! If you are unwilling to even do this-"

"I don't need their protection," Spartan very boldly replied. "If your warriors need rags to sneak, they aren't trained properly."

Eragon winced. Spartan did not just insult the clan chief that had been so welcoming to them.

Ündin scowled with barely kept anger, but Orik uttered a short laugh and joined him. "Come Ündin. If the rider says he can be quiet, there is no need pushing him. From what I have seen, he could sneak up on elves without them hearing him with their pointy ears."

_Pointy ears…_Eragon chuckled and fastened the straps on Saphira's back. He had yet to see anyone sneaking up on Arya, but the thought was funny regardless.

He turned around to say that he was all done, but when he saw Arya leaning against a pillar with a scowl on her face, everything seemed a lot less funny. '_Why is it that every time she looks at Spartan, she looks angry or worried?' _he asked Saphira.

The dragon yawned. '_I do not know. Ask her, but stay away from him.´_

_´Do you still fear him?'_

Saphira growled angrily. '_I fear no human, especially not one as bulky as him! I could pry him out of his suit and eat him any day if I wanted to, but I would only scare your friends if I did.'_

Eragon very much doubted that.

* * *

Their departure of the stone den called Tarnaq went very easy and very quiet. Her rider kept his promise that he wouldn't be noisy during his movements just as she knew he would. He and the elf made the least noise of their company, as dwarfs had the natural tendency to growl and huff. No, her rider was an apex stalker. No prey would hear him coming.

After a short few moments of traversing the city, Aeraleth saw that the two-legged creatures were actually going to let the river take them to the elven forests. Waiting for them were two wide rafts tied alongside a pole of wood. They seemed large enough for a dragon to rest on them, but she wouldn't be as foolish as to attempt such a thing.

Although she might try to scare her rider.

The only obvious human helped the little dwarves hobble and blindfold the four-legged animal, then coax it onto the second raft where it was further tied down. The stupid thing would most likely jump into the river and drown in its blind fear. Saphira slipped off the pier into the lake, holding only her head above the surface as she paddled through the water. Aeraleth felt the need to join her, but resisted. She had to keep a close eye on things, as her rider had taught her to stay vigilant at all times. If an enemy were to assault them now, Saphira would be in no condition to protect her partner-of-heart.

The commanding dwarf spoke some departing words to their group and then their group boarded the rafts. She watched with amusement as her rider carefully placed one foot onto the raft and then took it back again, as if he was afraid of boarding it. Arya was watching him mess around with a confused look on her face. Maine had stated before that his armour was very heavy and that he couldn't ride her until she had grown strong enough to carry him. She had been skeptical at first, but she saw the raft react to the armoured foot that stepped onto it and she couldn't help but feel like her rider would break the boat in half.

"Come on Spartan," Orik said. "You don't want to keep us waiting, do you?"

The soldier looked up, shrugged and then jumped onto the boat. Aeraleth chuckled deeply as she saw the wooden construction tilt heavily in the Spartan's direction, nearly throwing him off. He had to dig one of his claws into the frame to prevent himself from falling off.

Two guards winced as the craft got damaged.

"Güntera's beard you are heavy!" Orik cried out and quickly stepped back. "What manner of armour are you wearing? Take it off, for you are in safe hands now."

Maine had already said that he was with a group called the…Uu En Es Cee, but Aeraleth didn't think that the rest of their company had understood what that meant yet. And seeing as the Spartan was not very willing to share his secrets with others, he wouldn't really be replying to that question. But that was alright, as she preferred him to share his secrets with her and her alone.

With a pang, she remembered how he had abandoned her during the meal. Eragon had been with Arya and Saphira…the three of them had been enjoying themselves thoroughly. And she? She had been alone. Maine had left her on her own and she had not amused herself without him. He had justified his absence by saying that he was going to hunt the veiled dwarves and she had agreed reluctantly agreed, but…this hadn't been the only time that her rider had left her alone.

He did not touch her. He refused to simply take his armour off and show his affection to her. She had seen Eragon kiss and hug his partner-of-heart. The boy had fed Saphira, taken care of her and spent time with her. He had told her stories, slept underneath her wings and the best of all: he had ridden her. As rider and dragon should, they had taken the skies together.

Maine did no such thing. He didn't fly with her. He didn't eat or drink with her and he didn't sleep with her. He didn't even touch her…and if she didn't know better, she would think that he didn't even love her.

She had been having doubts about the intensity of their bond for a few days now and her thoughts had reached dark levels that she had quickly banished out of her mind, but she couldn't help but think that way. And as the night went on, Eragon laughed with Orik and exchanged stories.

Maine remained on his position, standing rigid at the front of his boat with his weapon in his hands.

Sometime later, Eragon had a small conversation with Arya. The only females that her rider had had interaction with were Saphira, whom he only respected slightly, and Raia, whose life he had spared. He liked neither of them and he showed no affection to them in the same way that Eragon showed in affection to Arya.

Of course, Maine didn't even show affection to his own partner. Somehow that didn't make her feel better. Perhaps…he did not like females? Human females were rather…dull. Or at least in her eyes. There was a possibility that the soldier preferred males above females? It would be unnatural, strange and plain stupid, but if her rider chose that she would respect him for that.

'_Maine?' _she hesitantly asked him.

'_What?' _he brusquely replied.

'_Do you prefer males or females of your species?'_ she asked him.

'_Neither,'_ he replied. That was strange.

'_Neither? Then what will you choose for a mate in the years to come?'_ she asked/

'_Mate?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_I don't need friends.'_

Silly human. A mate was a lover, not a friend! But she could understand that. He wasn't even twenty moons old. Usually, species reached sexual maturity around his age. Elves were an exception to that. But if he truly came from a different world, his people could become older than the humans on this world. For all she knew, he had yet to achieve that maturity that went coupled with seeking a mate.

And it was probably a good thing, too. She was intimately linked to his mind and if he chose to become friendly with a female, she would…feel the interactions. She would much rather see Maine with a mate who loved him and knew how to take care of him, than some average human female that ran from the first sign of fear. Humans could be _such _pitiful creatures at times. Running in terror, killing their own and causing misery on a scale that only the most foolish of creatures would cause. Not that the rest of the races in Alagaesia were much better though; the urgals were all foolish monsters that deserved to die, the elves were too strange and the dwarfs were idiots that stuck their heads in the sand when danger came from above, burning them and their homes to a cinder-

Aeraleth touched down on the bank of the river and recollected her thoughts. It was no use letting herself go like that and it wasn't even true. She didn't hate the humans and neither did she hate the dwarves. The elves interested her and judging by the way Arya treated her, the elves had to like dragons a lot.

She saw Saphira and Eragon taking the skies once more, after they had just swam in the river together. It was so frustrating so see how those two could do so many things together, while her own rider didn't even think about her. It was unfair.

'_So what do you think will happen now?'_ She asked him. '_Raia is going to protect the Varden and you are going to the elves to train your magic. What will this mean for our future?'_

'_Not much,'_ Maine replied. '_We rescue those eggs, bring down Galbatorix and link up with the UNSC. Then I leave this place.'_

'_Leave?'_ She asked him in shock. '_You would leave me? Alone?'_

'…_I don't think the UNSC would find me here anytime soon. If they do, you can't come with me. It would be too dangerous.'_

'_So stay!'_

'_I have a duty to perform,' _he replied harshly. '_I never meant to get pulled into this whole 'rider' thing. I never wanted to get bonded to a dragon.'_

And she never wanted to be bonded to a human that made her so unhappy, but here she was. Stuck with him.

She saw Maine softly lowering his head and briefly wondered how much of his behaviour was caused by his past or his disease. Raia had openly stated that she had poisoned him and he hadn't even replied to that. So either Maine had forgotten about that…or something else was going on. Something darker.

She wanted to hut her rider; she wanted to sweep down, press his body to the ground and force him to acknowledge her presence. But that wouldn't solve anything. It would only alienate him…and he couldn't help what he did. Even though he was young for human standards, he had experienced more than even Arya or Ajihad had. She knew that he had been trained for the sole purpose of fighting in a long and bitter war and it was that training that most likely impaired him in the long run. Patience was required to deal with Maine…and perhaps the elves could fix him? He had to be unhappy as he was now. Stuck in that armour without the option to take it off…she shuddered at the mere thought of being imprisoned in metal plates.

The hours passed by and the sun that had risen a few hours ago had already reached its peak on the sky, moving down to meet the mountains once more. During the journey, Maine had barely moved. He had occasionally walked to the edge of the raft to refill his water from the river and he had assisted one of the dwarves in keeping their supplies tied down when the raft had entered the part of the river where the currents were rapid, but that was about it. There were so many things that she didn't understand about her rider…like how his armour made him stronger, or how he was capable of spending so much time doing nothing. Back in the Dwarf-den, he had spent every waking second training or practicing.

Eventually, when the dwarves moored the boats to an overhanging tree so that they could spent an hour on the land, searching for…what was it again? The dwarves wanted to search for…something out there. She wouldn't be interested in their activities either way, but this meant that her rider could finally do something different from standing at attention on a fast-flowing raft.

And meanwhile, she could go hunting. She was hungry and her wings ached to be used once more. So she took off and went to the west, where she had previously spotted a group of gazelles. Maine had told her that she needed to work on a stealthy approach and while she hadn't exactly had the chance to practice that in the dwarf-dens, she had still given the idea great thought. Normally when a dragon approached, they would make a lot of noise. Prey would flee at the mere smell, sight or noise of a flying dragon.

Not that they could escape her even when they fled, but she preferred the thought of being a good predator rather than a good hunter. The latter meant that her prey had gotten the chance to escape, while the former meant that they would never see her coming.

She swept down and at the last moment, the herd noticed her approach. But by then she only had a few more meters to go and the animals were too late to escape her. The claws of her arms closed around a particularly large individual and crushed its spine, ending its terror within a second.

While the gazelles fled to a new and presumably safer place, Aeraleth had the chance to enjoy a freshly killed meal. She hungrily devoured the animal and licked the blood off her lips when she was done. No need to induce extra fear in her enemies when her normal appearance was already frightening enough. Besides; a dragon needed to look their best. Saphira and she were probably the last female dragons in existence. She wanted to look exactly like what she was: a lethal predator. Her black scales gleamed with the light of the sun and made her look regal, while her horns and spikes gave her a menacing appearance. In many ways, she was a beautiful specimen of her species.

Her body tensed up when her rider suddenly cried her name. His mental voice sounded ragged, which was all the more worrying than the alarm in his tone. Mental voices were _not _supposed to sound wrong, as that meant that the mind itself was wrong.

She took a large jump, unfolded her wings and jumped once more. The wind caught her wings, her muscles pulled her up and she took the air. She had not thought anything capable of harming her rider, but stranger beats roamed these lands than giant wolves. If an enemy magician had gotten their hands on Maine…there was no saying what they could do to him.

She used her rider's mind as a beacon to guide herself towards him, like she would use the stars to guide her through the skies. Soon she spotted him in a low crouch, in the middle of a grass field. Two of the dwarfs were shouting and crying and running towards him, but she sensed that something was wrong. Maine had one of his hands on his sidearm and his other hand wielded his combat knife. He was dead-still and not moving, but she could almost feel the burning turmoil in his mind.

'_Keep them away,'_ he struggled to tell her, '_I'll kill them.'_

His words shocked her deeply, but there was no time to dwell on their meaning. He had called for her and he had told her what to do, so she would do exactly that.

Aeraleth dropped out of the sky and landed directly behind Maine, shaking the ground and the surrounding trees with her weight. Her unnatural growth had allowed her to reach a size that was unheard of in dragons of her age and that size was enough to make such a landing rather violent. The two guards cried out in alarm and stopped moving towards her rider.

She focused on their mental link and was surprised to feel not pain, but an overwhelming desire to kill emanating from the soldier. There was no indication that he was suffering from Raia's drug anywhere and all that was left in his mind was a deeply burning aggression. Not hate, not anger, but pure animalistic hostility. It was like one part of his mind was fighting against another part, fighting for control over his body. One part had called for her help and implored her to prevent him from hurting anyone, while the other one seemed to want nothing less than the death of everything around him,. It was the same overwhelming killing intent that he had showed during his fight with the urgals and it frightened her.

But he was still her partner-of-heart-and-mind and she wanted him safe and happy. She would keep him from harming anyone and she would keep those that he would harm away from him.

One of the dwarfs took a step towards her and she growled deeply at him, warning him away. She had positioned her body in such a way that she was shielding her rider, so that he could not easily be reached by others. She would not allow him to hurt his allies, but she knew that she could not stop him if he truly wanted to harm them.

So she kept them away from him. A part of her wondered if she would be among those that Maine wanted to lash out at.

She did not listen to that part of her. If that was what it took to calm him down, so be it.

The soldier struggled immensely to keep control over himself and for three extremely tense minutes she was on top of his mind, sensing as he kept tidal wave after tidal wave of aggression back with pure willpower. The two guards were joined by another two and those too she had to frighten back.

At the start of the fourth minute, a memory rippled across their mental link. She saw the image of a world, beautiful and clean. She saw seas and mountains and grasslands and forests and she instantly knew that it could not be this world. It felt strange and alien…and it was beautiful.

It was a testimony to the truth. If that was Maine's original world, it verified that he was in fact from the stars, where countless worlds could lie hidden. It helped her that she was certain now, as the scale of her rider's suggestions had been impossible to understand. There were two worlds where humans lived; his and hers. But the question was…which one held the original humans? Had they appeared at the same time? Or had the inhabitants of one world traveled to a different one long ago?

Her rider took one last, deep breath and then calmed down. The fire in his mind died down, snuffed out by a combination of his willpower and his rationality. When she felt that he had recovered, she allowed him to get to his feet again.

This was going to be very hard to explain to everyone. What should he tell those dwarves anyway? That he was sorry for almost killing them for no reason? Like they were going to believe that. At the very least Main had not actively tried to kill anyone. He could perhaps still explain this away as…as…who was she fooling? She had no idea how to explain this.

"Spartan?" one of the dwarves hesitantly called out with his thick accent, "You are alright?"

The dwarf sounded rather nervous. And who could blame him?

When Maine didn't answer, the other guard added: "Your dragon would not allow us to…get close."

Maine rose to his feet and nodded once at Aeraleth, giving her the all-clear signal. She really hoped that he had an explanation ready for the dwarves.

"She's not quick to trust," he calmly replied and walked past them, leaving a few very confused dwarves behind. She understood his desire to keep this a secret; it wasn't every day that you felt the overwhelming desire to murder your allies.

"What happened? What was wrong?" a third one tried.

"Nothing," the soldier told them. "False alarm."

"Magic," one of them muttered and the other one nodded in agreement. Maine didn't correct them.

Aeraleth couldn't believe how easily this had transpired. Maine had just slipped onto one of his murderous fits and he had gotten away without telling anyone about his secrets _again? _That was…pretty impressive. And that was the way to go, right? Looking at the bright sides of their life. She was here, he was here and Maine was going to meet the people that could help him. All would be right eventually.

Her rider rejoined the rest of the group and –after Arya gave him a weird look- took his position near the rafts. The dwarves had gathered the things that they had been gathering and now they could finally continue.

Nothing exciting happened after that, besides a conversation going on between Eragon and Maine. The evening had fallen, Eragon was chatting with Orik near the campfire and Aeraleth could hear all the conversations going on. She just chose not to pay any attention to the ones that did not interest her. And while Eragon and Maine were obviously communicating, they were not really talking.

From her perched position near a few fallen trees, she eyed Eragon nervously talking to her rider.

Eragon said: "Can I ask you something?"

Maine twitched slightly with one of his fingers, indicating that the boy could speak to him. But Eragon had to have missed that, as he remained silence otherwise. It was amusing to see how few people could actually interpret the soldier's signs as language.

After a few seconds of nervous silence, the boy finally accepted that he was free to ask his question. "Do you not require sleep?"

Silly human. Of course Maine required sleep; roughly two to three hours sleep every two to three days should be enough for him. Eragon had obviously not seen Maine sleep; an hour of sleep a few moments after midnight and another two hours sleep in the early morning. He simply went to bed later and woke up sooner than the rest.

"Not much," the Spartan replied.

"Ah," Eragon replied, as if that was the most logical answer he could have gotten. "So…are you truly from the stars? I have never heard anything like that… but neither have I ever heard from Shades that possessed some humanity."

"There are other worlds with humans on them," Aeraleth's partner-of-heart replied, "I'm from one of them."

If Eragon understood that, he didn't show it. What he did show was that he was really, really nervous around the Spartan and eventually he left again.

The time that their group spent on their journey to Du Weldenvarden was boring, tedious and dull. Nothing really exciting happened and even as they finally reached the dwarven outpost, where they exchanged their rafts for strange four-legged animals that smelled vaguely like Eragon's four-legged animal, but these looked grey and had black hair and…ugly teeth.

Maine eyed one of the donkeys and looked away again. He was either thinking that he wanted to eat one of them, or that they were useless to him. Seeing as he weighed so much that _she_ could not carry him on her back, he was most likely going to walk alongside them.

Arya refused the animal too. "I will _not_ return to the land of my ancestors on the back of a donkey."

Donkeys huh? Stupid name. But Aeraleth respected the elf for her bonds to the land of her ancestors; she had never seen Maine care about anything like that. Culture, ancestors and even pride meant nothing to him. In those aspects, he was as strange to her as elves had to be to humans.

"How will you keep pace with us?" Thorv, one of the dwarf guards, asked the two of them.

"I will run," Arya stated with a sense of proud. The Spartan didn't even reply to the dwarf simply took the lead, marching at the front of their group with a pace that surpassed that of the donkeys and Eragon's white animal, outstripped only by Arya. And that was solely because the elf ran ahead of them, waiting only at the next hill or the one beyond that. Maine didn't stray too far from the group and when she asked him if he didn't feel like showing that he could outrun Arya, he gave her another lesson in the ways of war.

'_A group usually has one pointman,'_ he told her. '_This person scouts ahead and forges a safe path ahead. The group follows in the pointman's feet and cannot be ambushed if they follow closely. If I go too far from the group, they might get ambushed. We can't afford to be split up.'_

After that, he instructed her in various other words and sayings that his people used in times of battle. He explained to her that he, as a Spartan, was part of an elite unit of soldiers just like him. There were originally twelve others, but after one had disappeared, the rest had boarded large ships to follow him. There they had been ambushed by creatures that she could only understand as higher creatures, at a position in their lives greater than even the elves and the dragons at their peak. These creatures had held power greater than magic and, using that power, had sent all the crafts away from that world. His craft had ended up here, at Alagaesia. His people –around a dozen humans- had stayed behind, while a different group of his people had traveled to this land. Their smaller craft, that could only carry ten humans and one Maine, had taken fire above Uru'baen. There, her rider had jumped out of the ship and landed in the middle of a Shade nest. Raia had been there and a different shade with long hair had been there. It was at that moment that he had fought at equal terms with two Shades at once, stealing her egg in the process.

When Aeraleth looked at her rider, she felt sad. Sad that he did not see her as she saw him –that he did not care for her like she cared for him. His emotions were stumped and twisted, as evidenced by his bouts of rage. But she also felt pride whenever she looked at him: her rider was extremely competent, outpacing the donkeys and the dwarves that rode them on foot. He could keep up with Arya at terms of speed, she was certain of that. And despite that all, he never grew tired. He never gave up and never showed signs of weakness. The only times that had not been superhumanly capable were those moments that Raia's drug had crippled him. And despite all that, he always kept going. He had done so much…and he was _her _rider.

She wanted to be so proud at him, but his complete lack of respect and interest in the world around him sort of took away from that. But she respected him nonetheless, as she followed his orders and listened to his lessons. In a way, he was a hyper-competent child. He lacked skills in most areas that were deemed important, but at the areas that he was skilled in he excelled beyond all others.

The last night before the forest of Du Weldenvarden would come in their view, Arya and Maine held a conversation. She had probably seen how superhuman he was and, despite his claims that he was not elf or urgal, developed a deep suspicion for him.

But she was subtle about voicing her thoughts. Arya was polite against her and Aeraleth liked the elf. However, Arya was far from polite against the soldier. It seemed that if an elf took a deep disliking towards someone, they did not hesitate to show that.

"Why do you not ride Aeraleth?" Arya asked the Spartan. "Is her happiness not important to you?"

It stung, as that was exactly what Aeraleth's thoughts were. Did her rider not care for her?

"I am too heavy," he replied. "She can't carry me in my suit."

'Then take it off," Arya suggested and she crossed her arms. "I have yet to see you without your armour. When not faced with immediate danger, a warrior should not insist on wearing his protection. It is cumbersome, it causes harm and it is rude."

Was the elf seriously trying to teach _Maine _something about how to fight?

"It's not easily removed," Maine replied. "Out here, everything is a potential threat."

Arya eyed him suspiciously and then slowly spoke, "You…are not human."

Aeraleth blocked out all other sounds and listened as intently as possible. They had reached a topic that interested her greatly; just what was her rider, if not fully human? The pact, years ago, had been made to suit elves and humans. He could impossibly be something else. He had told her that his suit enhanced his abilities, but she hadn't truly believed her.

"I'm a Spartan," Maine replied.

"Do not talk in riddles. Only human children can be presented to the dragons. It does not work that way with elves, but you are no elf. What are you, Spartan? How did you circumvent the Pact?"

"Like I said, I am a Spartan. I didn't come from here, your magic might not work with me."

Arya shook her head slightly. "Not possible. The Pact was formed years ago and can only include humans and elves. You are not elf, but also not human. I shall ask one more time: what are you?"

Aeraleth felt a stab of annoyance from Maine's side. Before she could tell him to proceed with caution, he said: "I am a Spartan; chosen and trained to protect mankind from _all _threats, _whatever_ the cost. There are things out there you wouldn't believe, let alone understand." After that, he marched past Arya and walked away. This was the first time that a conversation between Arya and a person had ended with the person walking away and not the elf. Curious.

She decided that Maine couldn't afford to make an enemy out of Arya –not with so many people out to get him. She would tell him that he had been foolish, later. Now she wanted to spent the night in ease and prepare for the coming day accordingly.

The next day, something interesting happened rather early in the morning. They had just left for the final hill when she spotted something from above. It looked like a dragon had crashed there; there was a black trail that indicated that something had skidded across the ground and there was something white stuck in the dirt. Trees had been blown to pieces, rocks were scattered everywhere and her rider told her that he was picking up a signal.

'_What is it?'_ She asked him.

He didn't reply. It seemed as if he was growing more reclusive and isolated with every passing hour.

"Caution," Arya told Eragon and even held an arm in front of his animal when it didn't want to stop. "Ellesméra holds dangers to non-elves. This might be one of them.

Maine being Maine completely ignored her warning and marched past her. She didn't hold out an arm to stop him.

The soldier walked to the edge of the crash-site and investigated the strange object that was hidden within. Before she could warn him, he pulled out an object roughly as large as he was. It was completely white, shaped like square and decorated with a blue gem.

"What is it, Spartan?" Orik asked him and approached with a drawn axe.

"This is UNSC gear," he explained.

"From your people?" Eragon replied. "I thought that you were the only one?"

"There were a dozen others upon arrival," Maine told them. "They died upon arrival."

Orik offered his condolences and Eragon muttered that he was sorry to hear that. The Spartan didn't really look like he cared about their deaths though, as she felt no grief or regret from him. She felt curiosity from him and –as he pressed the blue gem in a certain way- annoyance at the thing's contents.

A white cylinder was propped away inside of the container. It had several round edges to it and as her rider touched it, a skeletal arm extended from it. Immediately she readied herself from trouble, but Maine merely touched another button and folded the thing up again.

'_Your people? If they died, how did they leave this?'_ She asked him.

'_They must have dumped it when they flew overhead,'_ he replied. '_It is likely they crashed somewhere close-by.'_

'_What is it?'_

'_This,´_ he explained with the mental equivalent of a sigh, ´_Is an Experimental Field Strip-Unit., or EFSU.'_

'_What does it do? Can you use it as a weapon?'_

'_No,'_ he replied. '_It is used to strip my MJOLNIR and make field repairs should it be necessary.'_

The soldier made it sound as if the…Effsuw…had deeply insulted him. As if the thought of something capable of making him naked disgusted him greatly.

It amused her. And it amused her even more when she saw that despite his feelings of disapproval, he still took it with him.

'_There is a chance that my suit gets damaged, or that I am wounded beyond normal recovery.'_ Maine felt the need to justify his actions to her, it appeared. '_Should that happen, this thing will function as six engineers and remove my suit._

'_How likely are you to take your armour off?'_

'_Not.'_

She did not approve of that remark, but she respected his need to be with his suit. The deeper she tried to understand him, the more she came to think that something had greatly shaped Maine in the negative. His suit was one of the things that brought him comfort, as it hid his face and with that, everything that made him human.

But he didn't explain what it did to the others in their group and she didn't give the device another thought.

Du Weldenvarden came into view within another day. In the evening they reached one final hill, having left the Beor Mountains far behind them. At first the forest appeared as a hazy ridge on the horizon, but the closer they got the more Aeraleth could see that it expanded into an emerald sea of ancient oaks, beeches and maples. From the sky she could see that the woods reached all the way to the horizon to both the north and west, further proving that the forests stretched the entire length of Alagaesia. To her, the shadows underneath the trees' arching boughs seemed intriguing and ancient. When she discussed that with her rider though, she learned that they meant completely nothing to him.

She should have expected that. What he did think about was the idea of meeting the elves. Deep in the heart of Du Weldenvarden lay Ellesméra, where he would have to learn how to use magic from a race that was as alien to him as he was to them.

She knew that the place was a perilous place for mortals, certain to be riddled with strange magic and stranger creatures. She would enjoy hunting those, as she would have to train as well. She had overheard Arya saying that a teacher would be waiting for the riders arriving there and she wondered who would have the bad luck of being paired with her rider.

That night, Aeraleth felt Arya reaching out with her mind to search for her.

'_I am here little elf,'_ she told the female. Aeraleth was currently resting with her back against a fallen tree. Their group had arrived at a small grove and both dragons had been forced to move to a larger location. Maine had disappeared to scout ahead and the rest of the two-legged creatures were sleeping, as they should when faced with the danger of the night. '_What is it you seek?'_

'_I am worried,'_ Arya hesitantly admitted. ´_I do not seek to offend you, Aeraleth, and we have not always communicated face to face.´ _the elf sat down in front of her, with her slender legs crossed to support her frame. '_To me, your rider is a source of confusion. He is also a source of fear.'_

'_You need not fear him,'_ she told Arya. '_He will not harm you unless you harm him. Such a thing is not likely to happen.'_

'_It is not my safety I am worried about,'_ Arya said with a brittle tone in her mental voice. '_Humans and urgals are one case, but elves are a different one. They are not like the other races. Because we live for so long, we consider courtesy to be the highest social virtue. One cannot afford to cause offense when grudges can be held for decades or centuries.'_

She understand how this was going to be a problem to them in the end. '_Your culture seems refined…and forced.'_

'_Even so,'_ Arya softly replied, '_there are various norms and customs that a rider must follow when in the vicinity of an elf. Spartan will cause great offense if he continues to act with the same…detachment…as he has been showing these days.'_

'_Do the elves seek to bind me to their customs as well?'_ she asked the elf, making sure to sound assertive rather than inquiring.

Arya was silent for a few seconds. '_As a dragon, none are higher than you in our culture. Even our ways of greeting are based on what we have established years ago with your kind. Not even the queen would claim authority over you. You may do and say as you wish. We will not bind you to our laws.'_

That was good to know. She would not have accepted otherwise; no living creature safe for her Spartan might command her and even he she only listened to because of his experience…and because of her experience in learning what disobeying in combat meant. '_What is it you seek?'_

'_I do not wish to teach him in the ways of our people. However, I would show you how he is expected to act. Can you share that memory with him so that he might learn?'_

There were a hundred flaws in Arya's plan, but Aeraleth wasn't going to be the one to point them out. Instead, she watched as Arya told her how her rider should act around the elves. She had moderate interest in actually memorizing these habits, as her rider had enough enemies as it was. She did not mean for him to earn more of them. So she allowed Arya to show her how elves, when meeting each other, touched their lips with their first two fingers to indicate that they wouldn't distort the truth during their conversation. How they had phrases that accompanied these gestures and how one should reply after having spoken such a phrase.

'_I have pressed on your hospitality too much,'_ Arya then told her. '_I should take my leave.'_

Aeraleth did not stop her. She had things to do too; she needed to find Maine and tell him how to not cause an entire race with magical and physical prowess close to that of Shades to hate him.

If only things were as simple as that.

* * *

As the dusk fell on the third day of their journey, Maine accidentally found himself conversing with one of the dwarven guards called Hedin. He hadn't truly meant to do that, as he didn't want to communicate any more than was necessary. One day ago, Aeraleth had shown him a memory of Arya teaching her how to properly interact with the elves. For his dragon's sake, he had watched the memory. For his own sake, he had decided to not do anything with it. The conclusion that Aeraleth had told him was that elves were quick to insult and that he should speak with respect and caution.

His conclusion had been not to speak at all. But it had been as it was and tight now, his situation was also as it was. After the dwarf had seen him gutting a killed gazelle with his knife, the bearded man had told him that his weapon was of extremely good quality.

At first, he had been skeptical. What creature could judge military steel at one glance, if not a UNSC soldier? But he had indulged in replying, telling the dwarf that the metal was called Titanium and that it had specifically been coated to prevent reflections from giving away his position. Hedin had shown unusual interest in his knife and after a brief moment of hesitation, Maine had chosen to reply instead of remaining silent. He had found out that the dwarves were excellent smiths and that Hedin counted himself as a good smith as well as a soldier.

The Spartan was relieved that the dwarf wasn't the talkative kind and their conversation existed out of approximately one statement and reply every two minutes.

"These forests," Hedin said after a minute or five or silence, "feel wrong. Like every tree holds enemy."

To Maine, the dwarf sounded like he had a Russian accent. The thought amused him somewhat. "It's the foliage. Even heat-signatures wouldn't work here."

"Heat-what?"

"My people have devises that allow them to see the warmth exuded by enemy soldiers," he explained without hesitation. It seemed that, if he could talk about things he was familiar with, the throbbing pressure and pain in his stomach wasn't as present as when he was talking about…say customs.

"That is useful," the gruff dwarf replied. It helped that the bearded man was an old warrior; Maine had an easier time talking to experienced warriors than difficult elves. "How does that work?"

He was about to explain that ever thing in the environment has heat that can be detected, when his motion tracker flickered into action again. He had been picking up ghost-signals all day and evening, but the signal that he was picking up right now was clear enough. Something was approaching them –something man-shaped.

He held up a fist, indicating his party to stop. Only Hedin stopped moving, the rest simply stared at him as if he was stupid. So he added: "We got contact."

That stopped them in their tracks alright.

The Spartan spun around and tried to pin down where the contacts were coming from. They were in a small meadow set between the river and another section of the forest. He knew that they were being watched, but he couldn't pin them down.

"Wait here," Arya said in a low voice. She walked forward until she stood alone in the middle of the lush grass, then cried out in the ancient language. From the words that Raia had taught him in the brief time she had hade, he understood that Arya was telling whoever was watching them her name, that she was from Ellesméra and that her companions were…allies and friends. Other words were spoken with an accent that made it impossible for him to follow, but her final sentence was that strange tides were upon them and that they had gained an unexpected ally.

For a minute or three, the Spartan concentrated past the sounds of the river rushing behind them and heard whispers coming from his twelve. Eventually an answer came from underneath the leaves in the trees that was presented in a line of Elvish, so quick and fleeting that the Spartan could only understand that it was a question regarding safety, honesty and sincerity

"I do," Arya responded.

Maine lowered his rifle and watched as two elves appeared on the edge of the forest, while two ran lightly out on the boughs of a gnarled oak. When he saw that those on the ground wielded long spears with white blades, he immediately raised it again and sighted in on the nearest one. All were garbed in tunics the color of moss and bark underneath flowing cloaks clasped at the shoulder with ivory ornaments. One had hair as black as Arya's, one had white hair and another one had short, brown hair. The last one –one with a spear- had silver hair.

The elves dropped from the trees and all safe one ran towards Arya, laughing in their clear voices. They joined hands and danced in a circle around her like children, singing merrily as they spun through the grass.

Maine watched with confusion as he saw that Arya too was laughing. The only elf that didn't join in with the ridiculous show was the one with the silver hair and even she was laughing and clapping with her hands. He found her more interesting than the other elves, as she was the only one who retained even the slightest apprehension. The rest of the elves were merrily laughing and dancing around and should he have chosen to attack at that moment, he would have killed them all.

He had to admit that their laughter didn't sound unpleasant. It was a bit peaceful, in its own way. The elf with the silver hair looked at him and he was surprised to see that her eyes were clearly yellow, while the other elves had brown or green eyes. Once her eyes locked with his, a tension crept into the air. Nothing that was distinctively visible, but it was enough for him to sense. A certain hostility grew between him and the elf and he knew that she didn't trust him. Good. Then she wasn't a fool.

'_They look so happy,'_ Aeraleth remarked.

'_They do,'_ he replied.

'_Are you annoyed at them?'_ his dragon joked.

'_Of course. '_ Although the lone elf could have stayed behind as a rear guard to keep the others safe should a threat arrive, he still felt like they had given away their positions too soon. At least he didn't have to flick his safety off.

The Spartan slowly lowered his rifle and at that point, both Aeraleth as Saphira climbed out of the river –one after another. At their approach, the elves cried out in alarm and aimed their weapons towards them. The very second they started to move, he did as well. He side-stepped in front of his partner, flicked the safety off and was about to shoot one of them in the knees when Arya quickly spoke in a few soothing tunes, motioning at Saphira and then at Eragon. Then she lowered her head somewhat and, during her small speech, also pointed at Aeraleth. Her confusion and wonder at the black dragon's origins were evident, but at least she trusted the dragon enough to mention her.

And then she mentioned him and the elves grew tenser. Nothing too extreme; it was just that he could see it because he was trained to watch for any change in his environment, including humanoid beings.

Eragon drew back the glove on his right hand, tilted his palm so that the silver symbol on his hand caught the moonlight and said: "Eka fricai un Shur'tugal," which meant 'I am a rider and a friend.' It occurred to Maine that he had exactly the same symbol on his hand as the kid had, which meant that there shouldn't be anything wrong with his bond with Aeraleth.

Then Eragon touched his lips and added: "Atra esterni ono thelduin," which meant 'may good fortune rule over you', as Arya had shown Aeraleth.

The elves lowered their weapons as their angled faces lit up with radiant joy. They pressed their forefingers to their lips and bowed to Saphira, Aeraleth and Eragon, murmuring their replies in the ancient language. Then they rose and eyed the Spartan with a mixture of suspicion and expectancy, like they were waiting for him to curiously greet them.

Yeah…no. What he did do was lowering his rifle and placing it on his back.

'_Anything?'_ Aeraleth asked him.

He placed his two fingers near his lips and remained silent. No distorting the truth, check. Wishing them good fortune? He wouldn't go as far.

The elves' happy and cheerful demeanor declined somewhat when he refused to speak and Arya threw him an angry glance, but he didn't care. He was here for better reasons than pleasantries and happy greetings. He was here to fight a war, save a dying race and return to the people that needed him. He was here because his ship had been forced into Slipstream space, as a direct result of Forerunner meddling.

They passed between the trees and the canopy overhead slowly became dark, except for places where moonlight gleamed through chinks in the network of overlapping trees. He could still see clearly though; he could see the elves accompanying them, he could see Eragon nervously eying Arya and he could see the path they were taking. He could also _hear_ the elves. They were laughing and whispering all around them. Occasionally they would call directions when Eragon or one of the dwarves blundered. Ahead, a fire glowed through the trees, casting large shadows across the ground. He saw three small huts clustered together as he entered the clearing where the fire had been lit, all of them positioned around the base of a large oak. High in the trees –which were seriously larger than he had expected- were platforms where watchmen could observe them.

The four elves vanished into the huts, then returned with their arms large piles of fruit and vegetables in their arms. No meat though. They began preparing a meal for their guests with the collected amount of food, humming as they worked. The silver-eyed elf resembled Arya in the fact that she distanced herself from her companions and kept a watchful eye on their environment. She was the only one that didn't act as foolish child and he could appreciate that.

When Orik asked their names, the dark-haired elf pointed to himself and said: "I am Lifaen of House Rilvenar. And my companions are Eduma, Celdin and Daenlith." the elves with white, brown and silver hair respectively.

Maine stood at rigid attention next to Aeraleth, who had lain down with the content feeling of resting. The elves were interesting so see. Three of them were male and one of them was female, but all of their faces resembled Arya's; delicate lips, thin noses and large slanted eyes. The rest of their bodies matched, with narrows shoulders and slender arms and legs. They looked…different from humans. Very different. They were –with a lack of a better description- exotic. While not as alien as the Covenant was, he sure as hell did not feel comfortable with them.

Then again, he never felt comfortable.

'_This race is magic to their very cores,'_ Aeraleth remarked. '_They do not feel like humans or dwarves do. They feel as surreal as you.'_

'_Insult?'_

'_Remark.'_

He had to admit that the elves moved with an elegance and precision that he only saw in martial artists. While they were nowhere near as fluid as the SPARTAN-II's, they came close to the elegance of the Secret-Spartans –the imitation of the highly successful SPARTAN-II's. He knew that he wasn't exactly near the level of a real Spartan like the Master Chief, but that was purely due to a difference in age and experience. He and his unit had received the same training as the original II's had and perhaps better augmentations. The problem was that he suffered from these annoyingly powerful fits of aggression that seemed to appear only when he was on his own for longer than a week.

The elves voiced their comments directly to Aeraleth instead of contacting her mind, something for which he felt strangely content. It was like he didn't want other people to communicate with his telepathic partner –which was rather silly.

The problem was that Aeraleth had been reluctant to breach the elves' privacy and she had almost made him relay her wishes. He had refused to meet the elves on their courteous levels of greeting, so he had no desire to initiate contact with them after that. She would have to work on her own with that.

But the elves declared that they welcomed her in their minds and from the looks of it, they were actually reveling in their presence. It was interesting how only the three male elves showed so much happiness and interest in their guests. Was that a racial thing?

Eventually the food was ready and served on carved wooden plates. He gave one look at the assorted collection of fruits and vegetables and snorted in disapproval. He had no intention of taking his helmet off in the vicinity of people that could kill with a single word. But Eragon and Arya had no such problems with the food and vicinity of the elves and happily dug in. While they ate, one of the elves started singing. It was a voice that had a frustrating resilience to being blocked out. It was almost as if it was meant as an enchantment –and he had overheard Arya saying that the elves sang their bows from trees that did not grow anymore. Obviously these people worked magic with singing and that was a large threat on its own, let alone when it was done by someone with a voice that was nigh-impossible to block out.

Eragon thanked the Celdin and the elf thanked Eragon for thanking him and Maine was pretty sure that Eragon was going to thank Celdin for thanking the boy for thanking he elf, but Hedin interfered. Thankfully.

"Very pretty, Master elf. However, there are more serious matters than reciting verse that must attend to. Are we to accompany Eragon and Spartan farther?"

He saw two of the elves react to hearing that name, but he couldn't see what those reactions meant.

"No." Arya quickly replied, drawing looks from the other elves. "You may return home in the morning. We will assure that Eragon and…Spartan…reach Ellesméra."

That hesitation was noticeable.

Thorv, a different dwarf with a black beard, dipped his head. "Then our task is complete."

Unless some animal killed the elves, the dragons and the riders after the dwarves had disappeared. But that was not very likely to happen.

The elves had prepared beddings for Eragon, Arya, Orik and him, but he had no desire to sleep. He had too much things on his mind to sleep and even though he could normally think through every problem in seconds, he just couldn't muster the willpower to solve this. So he stood staring at his bed, listening to Aeraleth and Saphira breathing with their enormous lungs. Aeraleth had grown to a size that was just a few feet smaller than Saphira was and she looked more ferocious than he had ever seen her. Her gleaming teeth were like sabers in her head, which was positioned almost three times as high as he was. Her growth had truly been unnatural, as Saphira had to be at least three to four months older. Eragon and Orik were currently resting inside of their own wooden houses, but it sounded like Arya was not. He could hear her talking with the other elves, discussing what had happened after she had sent Saphira's egg to Eragon on accident.

"You may take your armour off now, rider Spartan," a soft and musical voice told him. He had already seen the humanoid contact approaching him on his motion sensor, but he had been too preoccupied to worry about it.

But now that one of the elves was seriously talking to him, he couldn't simply stick to staring at the bedding in the small hut.

So he turned around and faced the female that had been talking to him. It was the silver-eyed elf. He had already thought her to be different from the rest of the elves and now that he looked at her from up close, he could conclude that he was right. She looked more serious and solemn than the males. More like Arya. Were all elf-woman like that?

Her pointed ears were very long, easily reaching past the three inches. Her eyes were large and almost feline in appearance, but it was the hostility that they bore that really got to him. She was obviously not very glad to see him, even though she almost sang to him in her exotic voice.

He resisted the urge to grab his knife –as he had been doing a lot these days- and straightened his back. He had stored the EFSU inside of the hut, but he had no desire to use it. "I'd rather not," he replied with more words than he would have replied to anyone else. He didn't know what level of threat these elves were, but if he took Aeraleth's words to heart it would be very easy to tick them off. He didn't want that…but neither did he want to divert form his natural way of replying to people.

Which was not.

"Then the journey tomorrow shall be a hard one for you," she replied with a slight narrowing of her eyes. There was no sympathy in her voice.

He wondered if her hostility was due to his lack of greeting the happy little dancing idiots. If so, why was she talking to him?

"I doubt it," he replied. Without waiting for her reply, he moved past her and walked towards the forest. Aeraleth was sleeping…there was nobody he wanted to talk to and he had no desire to sleep. Training his body was useless while he was inside of his suit and he couldn't afford wasting ammo by practicing his aim.

So he would just set up a perimeter, scout the surrounding area and determine where to go next.

But even after spending at least thirty minutes walking around, scanning the environment for any living creatures with his mind and thinking up over twenty new ways to kill people with magic, she still didn't feel like he had done anything worthwhile. He yearned to move –to take the fight to his enemy and complete his current mission.

Whatever that was…

Maine returned to his bed in the hut and found that the bonfire had been extinguished. Everyone was fast asleep.

He looked back at the forest, hesitated for a brief moment and then decided to go to sleep anyway. Perhaps the coming days held the key to solve his restlessness.

* * *

"_I do not think that the Spartans are even aware of these bio-augmentations. They were not informed of the side-effects, that is for damn sure. I can only imagine how one must feel, after having spent ten days all on his own on a Covenant-held planet, in process of being glassed. Slowly succumbing to the painful effects of some foreign drug, being driven insane by the overstimulation of their brain. It is inhuman…I do wonder what Parangosky has to say about this."- _

_Mental Health Specialist Sunfield, logbook entry 6, 25__th__ of August 2552._


	13. Under my skin

"_Captain? We have spotted a small group of people riding south-west of Bullridge, heading towards Dras-Leona. Their appearances match those of a group that had been reported a few days ago, from our garnishment north of the Hadarac dessert. That group has reported the theft of eight of their finest horses."_

"_This can't be coincidence! They must be traveling to Surda to join the rebellion! Sent men to intercept them now!"_

_Captain's report, Dras-Leona, approximately one day after Spartan appearance near Eldor Lake._

* * *

_Fog. Once more, he found himself surrounded by fog. The thick, white mist made it almost impossible for him to see where he was. He could see a foot in front of him, two foot if he concentrated hard enough, but that was the end of it. But this time, something was different. The ground was quaking and he could hear solid items like rocks cracking to pieces. In the distance, something was moving at a rapid pace, but he couldn't see what it was or even where it was moving. He just knew that it was there._

_He was without his armour again. His ghastly pale skin was visible for all to see and he felt so sluggish –so weak. Without his enhancing MJOLNIR, he couldn't do half the things he had been doing. He could compensate for that with his master over the various sorts of arms that the UNSC had been creating, but he didn't even have a gun. He was powerless. _

_Where was he even? Something was moving in the distance, he was unarmed and unprotected and in the dark to such a degree that the only way he could see an enemy coming was when it was right on top of him. And that damn fog…he hated it. He couldn't stand it. It seemed to get thicker every single time he travelled there. _

_The shaking ground grew more intense, but he ignored that and started moving to the north. Or what was supposed to be the north; he couldn't get a proper bearing on his location. Walking felt surreal, as he did not know what distance he was covering. It might be a mile, but it might also be a dozen meters. _

_The fog in front of him lifted and he was able to see where he was heading this time –where he had been heading all this time: a village. It was a collection of houses and other buildings that seemed to have been built with a tight community in mind. Most of the structures had been built using lots of wood and other kinds of weak materials. But for all the easy and weak materials that had been used to build it, it looked like the village still thrived. _

_At the very second he realized that he was looking at a village, the trembling underneath his feet grew to an apex and he very nearly stumbled when a particularly powerful tremor caused the ground to split apart. Red fluids appeared from the crack in the ground and he jumped to the side, wanting to avoid the blood-red liquid. He could hear children laughing and screaming in joy, with the sheer innocence that only the young could muster-_

Maine shot upright when a loud twittering echoed through the forest, waking him from his troubled sleeps. By the time his brain had finally identified the sound as the cry of a bird he had already jumped to his feet and assumed a fighting stance It was dark outside, but it wasn't the kind of dark that he would expect to see in the middle of the night. Meaning…that it was morning.

The Spartan found his dragon with a thoughtless flicker of his mind and, upon finding that she was still asleep, took his position near her to wait for the rest to wake. He didn't know why he wanted to be near Aeraleth that moment. Perhaps he wanted to guard her from some threat that his subconsciousness had picked up?

When he spotted her sleeping bulk, riddled with tough scales and pale horns, he felt strangely comforted. He was uncertain about the reason for that; did he need something to comfort him? Usually the weight of heavy ordnance or the complexity of a sophisticated battle-plan comforted him. But he was merely restless these days…was that why he needed comfort?

No…he was probably feeling the wrong emotion. Half of the time he didn't even know _if_ he was feeling anything, let alone _what _he was feeling. He was probably misinterpreting something, as he had done many times before.

Still, he was certain that he was feeling a small amount of guilt.

After about thirty minutes of guarding his dragon, the dwarves started to rouse themselves. After they had donned their armour and weapons, they started to pack and ready the donkeys. He spotted Hedin hauling a crate as large as the dwarf was and shook his head. That was the same as a marine hauling an entire weapons cache. It wouldn't do.

"Allow me," he told the dwarf and relieved him of his burden, lifting the heavy crate with one hand.

"I thank you, Spartan," the dwarf told him and placed one fist near his heart.

The Spartan set the crate down next to the donkey, where two other dwarves started to work at strapping it down.

"Give my regards to the king," he replied. He respected the dwarf for who he was; a battle-hardened warrior that knew when to talk and when not to.

"I will carry your words," the dwarf replied. Then he hesitated and looked at the huts for a moment. "Elves are a queer race, full of light and dark. They drink with you in the morning and stab you in the evening. Keep thine eyes open, Predator, for they are unpredictable."

"Thanks," he told the dwarf.

Hedin nodded. "Mmm…they plan to travel up Eldor Lake in boats. What will you do with thine armour? It makes you too heavy to ride donkey, yes? Will their small boats support you?"

Boats? Again? If they wanted to travel up a lake, that meant that their destination lay on the other side. Wherever they were going, he could get there by traveling past the lake.

"I'll circumvent the lake," he told the aged warrior. Hedin had a large scar that ran over his gruff face, he just noticed that now. It was a sign that Hedin had seen his fair share of combat. It was a shame that the dwarves were going to leave them; he would much rather travel with them than with the elves.

He helped them by carrying two more dwarf-sized caskets to their donkeys and then watched as they fastened their supplies and took their leave. By that time, the elves and Eragon had appeared too.

'_That was an act of kindness,'_ Aeraleth told him.

'_I only carried a few crates,'_ he replied and saw that the elves wanted to lead them to their next destination.

'_Those crates might have weighed as much as the dwarf himself. You saved him great trouble…and you showed that you do care.'_

'_Care for what?'_

Aeraleth joined him and snorted with amusement, exuding a large trial of smoke. Two of the male elves turned to look at her in awe. '_Care for the people you are sworn to protect.'_

'_My duty is to protect mankind whatever the cost,'_ he replied. '_But as a soldier, I am sworn to protect the innocent as well. If it meant completing my mission, I would give my life. All of my missions serve to protect humanity.'_

´_As a rider, your duty lies with every race,´_ Aeraleth told him. ´_With the exception of the urgals of course.´_

The urgals reminded him of Brutes, only smaller and weaker and…less savage. The only thing he wanted to do with them was thinning their ranks.

'_My duty lies with mankind and nothing else,'_ he told the dragon. '_The war might be over, but that doesn't mean that humanity is safe.'_

'_There are humans here as well. They need you too.'_

These humans were not his humans. They weren't…they weren't part of Earth and her colonies. But they were humans nonetheless. His duty lay with protecting humanity as a whole and these humans were humans as well. It meant that he would have to protect them as well but…but…

Maine didn't know where he was needed the most. He wanted to return to the UNSC but…those missions were to keep assuring mankind's safety. His mission here meant a direct fight for mankind. But he also fought against humans…hell, he was gathering with inhuman races to overthrow a human leader. Had the empire not engaged him, it would have been the other way around. It was so messed-up…

'_Do not fret little soldier,'_ Aeraleth told him. '_Right now, the enemy is the king. Once we have beaten him, we can see where we are needed more.'_

'_Fine.'_

They followed the elves to a thicket on the edge of a river called the Edda river. There, docked on either side of a boulder, where two white canoes with vines carved into their side.

This was going to be complicated. "These won't carry my weight."

Lifaen merely laughed. "Do not worry Spartan; these canoes can easily carry five elves. Go ahead and try."

Maine shook his head and then walked towards the small boat. He placed on foot inside of the white interior and transferred his weight from his rear leg to his front leg. The canoe immediately sank below the surface of the lake and started to fill itself up with water.

The Spartan looked over his shoulder and was not surprised to see the self-assured looks on the pretty-faced elves having completely changed to shock and confusion.

"How is that possible?" Eduma whispered in the ancient language.

"There was no gramarye," Celdin replied.

Stepping out of the sunken canoe again, Maine pulled the waterlogged craft out of the lake and emptied it. The canoe felt extremely light, like a kayak did.

"How much do you weigh, Spartan?" Lifaen asked. "This has not happened before. Is it your armour? It does not look like its origin lies in Alagaesia.

Smart man. "It is."

"Then we must divide your armour over the canoes," Eragon tried.

Not even if he wanted to. "It can't be removed that easily."

"How so?" Lifaen asked.

Maine did not like diverging secrets from the UNSC, but he guessed that this situation asked for a little explanation. "It takes six experienced mechanics of my people to remove it over the course of one hour."

"Is it that complicated?" Eragon asked.

"Yes," he replied and scanned the environment around the lake. The lake was not nearly as large as the lake near Furnost had been, but it would still take him a few hours to cross it. Unless he ran. In that case he could cross the approximate twenty-five miles in about an hour. "I'll circumvent the lake and meet you on the other side in one hour."

"One hour?" Daenlith asked him with the same emotionless expression that Arya always had when she was about to make a dry or skeptical remark. "You would cross eight leagues in one hour?"

"You could ride Aeraleth and cross the same distance in mere minutes," Eragon remarked.

The Spartan was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all that attention and interest. The whole journey, his companions had been the ones to slow him down. And now he was the one who complicated manners. "She can't carry my weight yet."

"You would only get lost in the forest of Du Weldenvarden," Arya told him. "You need a guide to show you the way. Daenlith? Will you show the rider the way?"

The silver-haired elf straightened her back, much like military fashion. Why did she respond to Arya's call in such a way? "Nen ono weohnata, Arya Dröttningu."

Then Arya turned to Edurna –who stood on the bank- and told them: "Guard this way so that none may follow us, and tell no 'one of our presence. The queen must be the first to know. I will send reinforcements as soon as we reach Silthrim."

"Arya Dröttningu."

There was that word again. Who was Arya that she could command reinforcements to come to the elf's aid? Was the role of ambassador really such an important task?

"May the stars watch over you," she answered.

Bending forward, Lifaen and Celdin drew spiked poles ten feet long from inside the boats and began propelling the vessels upstream. The last thing that the Spartan saw of them was Saphira sliding into the water behind them, clawing her way along the riverbed until they were level and eventually submerging completely.

He had no desire to travel alongside an elf. If he was going to run past the lake, he would do so at speeds that were impossible for humans to reach, let alone sustain for an hour. As soon as Eragon and company had left, he turned towards the woman called Daenlith. "Can you keep up with me?"

She frowned and raised her head. "Do not think lowly of me, rider. Elves will outrun humans every time, rider or not."

That statement was about to be put to the test. "I'll take point."

Without waiting to see if the lady got what he meant, he started running. With his assault rifle in his arms and the elf on his heels, he settled on an average jog. That still meant that he reached a speed of forty kilometers per hour. He stormed through the forest, jumping over the various fallen trees and rocks with leaps that allowed him to clear distances of up to fifteen feet in a single bound. He was completely unfamiliar with the environment and that led to situations in which he had been forced to divert form his path at the last possible second, weaving past a large tree or gap in the ground. But his reaction time, enhanced many times by his MJOLNIR, made it possible for him to navigate at speeds that were even higher than that without difficulty. He could go on for many hours at the pace he was currently running. The only problem was food, but he would solve that sooner than later. It had been three to four days since he had last eaten something and he could feel that he was getting hungry. The sooner he had some privacy, the sooner he could grab some food.

Much to his surprise, the elf called Daenlith managed to keep up with him. They had to be going at least forty kilometers per hour and the forest was very thick. Either she knew this part extremely well, or her reaction times were incredibly well-developed.

He risked looking over his shoulder just after he had leaped over a collection of rocks and saw that the silver-haired woman took smaller leaps than he did, but chained many such jumps together to reach equal heights. She moved past the obstacle with an elegance that he had never seen in humanoid races before; neither the Covenant nor soldiers of the UNSC could reach move with such grace. It was confusing that a race existed that he might compare to Spartans in a way, but here they were. Elves. Graceful as Spartans and faster than normal soldiers.

After about thirty minutes, Daenlith called for him to stop. He used his powerful leg-muscles to stop his movements and turned around. The elf had also stopped running and she was looking around, looking around her environment. She had sounded rather alarmed and he wondered if she had seen anything.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Du Weldenvarden has many mysteries and dangers, especially for a rider," she explained to him with an odd intonation in her voice. "Elves have lived her for thousands of years and old spells still linger in unexpected places. Magic permeates everything…and t non-elves, it can be lethal."

So the mighty forests were in fact an irradiated place filled with mines? Great. "Why did we stop?"

"There is a trap around here somewhere," Daenlith told him. "I can sense its presence, but not its exact position."

'_Aeraleth?'_ he asked the black dragon, who was currently swimming through the river roughly half a kilometer to their east.

'_Yes?'_

'_This place is dangerous. Keep a low profile and watch your step.'_

'_I need not to fear, little soldier. Dragons are mostly immune to the spells that have been placed by the elves. It is you that needs to be careful.'_

'_Copy,'_ he told her and withdrew from her mind. After having verified whether his shields were still up, he carefully took a few steps forwards.

Daenlith watched him move, but made no intention of stopping him. He took several more steps and then, just as he was about to give the all-clear signal, he heard the gales of rushing wind and a sickening sensation spread itself through his stomach. He leaped backwards and spun around in midair, diving into a roll to get as much distance from whatever was happening as possible. His initial leap took him two meters, his rolling maneuver another three. And then an explosion blasted through the forest, temporarily blinding him with green and purple lights. His shields took the majority of the detonation and it drained twenty percent. That was probably what the elf had meant.

"Spartan, are you alright?" he heard her voice calling out to him through the thick fog that the magical explosion had created.

He used her voice to orient himself towards her direction and calmly walked towards her. He saw her eyes widening slightly when he approached her and he could imagine how he must have looked like to her; seven feet of dark, armoured soldier that had just exploded and escaped unscathed.

"Found it," he told her. The fact that she appeared more disciplined than the other elves made him like her more, just like he had preferred Hedin above Orik.

"Be careful next time," Daenlith told him with a light scowl. When she saw that he was really completely unharmed, she added: "Is your armour made by the dwarves? It does not look like anything I have seen before."

He oriented himself towards the bank of the river. "It's not. Humans made it."

Daenlith took the lead again. "Humans? Here in Alagaesia?"

Smart lady. "No. My people."

"Where did you come from then?"

The elf picked up speed very quickly and the Spartan felt impressed by her endurance. "A world far away from here, beyond the stars." It sounded so cliché to him, but it was practically the truth. He really came from a world from beyond the stars.

Daenlith did not reply to that and after another twenty minutes of silent running, they arrived at the other side of the lake, where Eragon and the others had yet to arrive.

"You run well, Spartan," the elf told him while they waited for the rest to catch up. "You move unlike any human does. Has your bond with Aeraleth changed your body so much?"

Maine, about to contact his dragon to tell her that he was waiting for the rest, doubled right back to Daenlith with his attention. "What?"

But Daenlith had her attention somewhere else. She was staring in the distance, where the other elves were approaching with their canoes. The Spartan was about to ask her what she was doing when she turned to him, looking at him with her hawk-like eyes. "We are to follow the river until we reach Silthrim. We will wait outside of the city for Arya to rejoin us."

The Spartan wondered why the group needed to be split up, but he couldn't really complain. He preferred to travel on his own and the company of the likes of Arya and Eragon would only frustrate him. So he stayed silent and followed Daenlith as she led him through the forest for hours, following the river along its various curves and bends. They only stopped when the sun had set and it was time to set up camp and even then, the elf stayed silent.

Maine could feel that he was slowly getting tired and he knew that it would soon be time to eat. He wasn't in the same condition as Daenlith was, who was visibly trying to calm her breathing, but an entire day of running had still weakened him somewhat. He had to overcome his desire to keep his face concealed, as a lack of sustenance brought on by that would only serve to weaken him.

He watched as Daenlith prepared the camp while they waited for the rest of their group to arrive. Aeraleth had told him some interesting things and he found himself enjoying a small conversation with her.

'_I like the elves,'_ Aeraleth said, '_mainly because they are so polite. They know when to treat someone with reverence.'_

'_Of course you like them,'_ he replied. '_They treat you like a queen.'_

'_True, but also because I'm not a grumpy person to travel with.'_

'_And Orik is?'_

'_You are.'_ She sounded amused.

'_Grumpy?' _He asked, '_How so?'_

'_You barely speak a word, you act like the elves are your enemies and you even refuse to show them the politeness they have shown you these days.'_

'_We're fighting a war,'_ he told her. '_And I'm wasting time walking through a forest with people that act like they don't have a care in the world. Would you be happy?'_

'_I am content. Content that I know you will be educated in the arts of magic and content to know that you and I will be trained together. You have told me yourself that I am not yet ready to fight this war…and I tell you now that you are not yet ready to fight with magic.'_

'_Magic won't decide this,'_ he snapped at her. '_Tactics, weapons and movements will decide this.' _

'_That is what you might think,'_ Aeraleth patiently replied, '_But the truth is that the king has gone undefeated for years because of magic. Tactics, weapons and movements were all defeated by magic.'_

She had a point. '_How long do you think we will be staying in Ellesméra?'_ He asked her to change the subject.

'_Perhaps days, perhaps weeks,´ _Aeraleth told him. ´_This is why you cannot afford to keep alienating the ones you meet. You must try to speak as elegantly as you move.´_

_´Easier said than done,´_ he told her. Still, he knew that she was right. If he was going to stay with the elves for such a long time, he might as well make the best of it. There would be old and powerful individuals among them and perhaps even some seasoned warriors he could hold a conversation with.

Eventually, Aeraleth came into view, closely followed by Saphira and the elves. Arya and Eragon made up their rear flank, followed by Orik.

Lifaen rapidly spoke to Daenlith in Elfish, gesturing at the dragons. While the two communicated in their own manner, Orik greeted Maine.

"Greetings Spartan," said the diminutive warrior. "I take it your own journey went without trouble?"

'_Be polite,´_ Aeraleth warned him.

"We ran into a trap," he told the dwarf. "The forest is filled with magic."

"You tripped one of the magical traps?" Arya asked him and then looked at Daenlith. "What happened?" She didn't look remotely amused.

Maine, feeling like Arya was higher in rank than the silver-haired elf was, stepped in. "I was on point. I didn't see it coming."

Clearly he had said something wrong, as Arya looked at him like he had just declared war to the universe. He could feel Aeraleth's surprise and wonder trickling through their mental link and even Lifaen and Daenlith glanced at each other with meaningful expressions. Orik exclaimed a small cry of surprise and Eragon…was actually just as confused as Maine was.

'_Little soldier, ´_ Aeraleth said, ´_did you make a mistake?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_And you openly admitted that?'_

'_Yes,'_ he replied. He was starting to feel uncomfortable. '_Did I do something wrong?'_

But before he could think of something else to say to lessen the blow of his mistake, he felt a warm emotion trickling through his mental link with Aeraleth. He didn't recognize it as first, but as soon as she started talking to him again he understood that she was proud of him. Why?

'_I think that you are very well diplomatic capable,' _she told him and touched his helmet with her snout in an affectionate gesture.

Arya, who had seemed hostile to Daenlith for a few seconds, seemed to decide that it was indeed Maine's fault. She averted her stern gaze from the silver-haired woman and instead looked at Eragon. "If you wish to hunt, do so now, for time is growing short."

Eragon nodded and readied his bow and arrows.

'_Are you hungry?'_ Aeraleth asked.

'_I am,'_ he replied. Aloud he said: "I'll be back in an hour."

Without waiting for a reply, the Spartan disappeared from the camp –in the opposite direction as Eragon had gone. He didn't want to waste ammo in the animals though, so he was going to use magic. He tracked down a falcon by extending his mental probes, stopped its heart by muttering the elven word for 'stop' and then collected the carcasses. After that, he created a fire with the magical word 'Brisingr' and gutted the falcons, plucking them and removing their organs with practiced ease. He roasted the stripes of flesh on heated rocks and, when he was certain that he was completely alone in the forest, removed his helmet.

It was a brief moment of piece in what had been days of tension and troubles. He rarely had the time or opportunity to eat food in peace and harmony and he enjoyed every second of it. Eventually, Aeraleth's vast consciousness flooded into his head and she gently asked him if he wanted to return, as everyone was preparing themselves to go to bed.

'_Copy,'_ he replied and immediately doused the fire, covered it with dirt and buried the remainders of his meal. After half a minute of quiet work, he was ready to move out.

' _What did I miss?'_ he asked his partner.

'_Someone has tried to scry Eragon,'_ Aeraleth replied.

Scrying…that was the art of viewing a person through magic, summoning their image in a reflective image. Raia had told him that he was harder to scry, as she had demonstrated to him. She had thought it was because of his different state of mind. He had thought it was because of his MJOLNIR armour and his Neural Interface.

But to humans, it was impossible to sense if you were being scryed. '_How did he know_?'

'_The necklace that Ündin has given him,'_ the dragoness told him, '_prevents people from scrying him. He felt it's magic.'_

'_What does this mean?'_

'_It means that Arya wishes us to increase our movements, heading towards Silthrim with haste.'_

'_Finally.'_ The Spartan had arrived at the camp, where Lifaen was keeping watch. He felt a stab of satisfaction as he saw the elf snapping to attention when he stepped into the clearing. He had been stealthy enough to outmaneuver the elf's gaze. It was good to know that these creatures weren't without faults.

He walked towards the hut that was still empty and eyed the soft bed, remembering his last experience with sleeping. Suddenly, he felt apprehensive. He always dreamt about things in the past, where his memories would flood his mind and create the most outrageous and disturbing images. But lately, he had repeatedly returned to the misty village that he knew existed on the planet Chi Ceti IV. It had been 2548…more than five years ago. He had been thirteen…fourteen? Old enough to undertake infiltration operations. But that mission had gone so catastrophically wrong that he had had to take a psych exam before he could have returned to active duty. And with the desperation that his missions had been tailored to, that had been an unwelcome outcome for the war-effort.

And he couldn't. stop. Dreaming. He couldn't stop dreaming about what had happened; about the nightmare that the operation on Chi Ceti IV had been. He wasn't afraid of anything; he had seen the worst nightmares that the universe had to offer and he had beaten those nightmares countless of times in countless of battles. But there were two things –two variables- that constantly returned to plague him at night. And over time he had grown reluctant to go to sleep. He knew that he would return to one of those worlds…and if there was one thing in the world that he feared, it was dreaming. He was powerless in his dreams; he never wore his suit and he never had his weapons. He was completely helpless and he hated that…and he feared that.

As if she sensed his hesitation, Aeraleth shifted her attention to him, forcing herself out of her slumber to speak to him. '_What ails you, little soldier?'_

'_I…'_ he didn't want to tell her. Emotions were signs of weakness and fear was one _the _things that he could not afford to feel, together with exultance and pity. He was weak for feeling it and he did not want to share it. He would not share it. He could not share it. '_I don't want to sleep.'_

'_I can easily picture human cubs saying that. What does the mighty rider wish to do?'_

Sarcasm…he hated that. So he bit back his pride and anger and replied. '_My rest is sleepless…my mind in turmoil. I can´t stand the dreaming._

'_Dreaming?'_ Aeraleth repeated with shock. Her sarcastic attitude disappeared like a Grunt in a minefield and she grew serious. '_Have you been having nightmares? What about?'_

'_Don't ask that,'_ he told her, apprehension and alarm cutting through his mind. '_Please. Don't ever ask. It's just…I just…'_

'_It's alright Maine,' _Aeraleth prevented him from making a fool of himself by cutting him off. Her voice was thick with compassion and kindness and for the first time since ages, Maine felt like he could trust someone. '_I do not need to know your secrets to assist you. I shall keep an eye on you…and chase the nightmares away should they arise.'_

The Spartan didn't know how to reply. He knew that he wasn't the most pleasant person to be around and Aeraleth could have been bonded to so many better people than him…but she accepted him as he was. She cared for him despite everything and she even wanted to help him. He settled for a small 'thank you' and, instead of crawling into the disgustingly soft bed that the elves had prepared for him, turned around and marched towards the forest. Aeraleth was sleeping near the edge of the camp, roughly a dozen meters into the thick foliage and trees. Saphira was closer by the camp, but he didn't care for her.

'_Little soldier,'_ Aeraleth affectionately spoke. '_You are so disturbed for someone your age. Can you not tell me what hurt you so much?'_

'_A war, Aeraleth,'_ he told her. '_A war that took decades of bloodshed and death. A war I sacrificed so much for.´_ Then he grudgingly added '_A war makes our fight against the king look like a bird's mating ritual.'_

'_A bird's mating ritual? You grew poetic,'_ Aeraleth joked.

'_Must have been the falcons I ate,'_ he replied and paused in front of the dragoness, mighty and strong. Her scales were darker than the night and she was nearly as big as Saphira was now. In just two weeks' time, he might be able to ride her.

Aeraleth lifted her wing and, after a brief moment of hesitation, Maine took a position underneath the leathery appendage. He couldn't feel her body through his suit, but it was her closeness that counted.

'_You have grown, rider of mine, '_she told him. '_Be proud of yourself, for you are the most capable warrior I know of.'_

'_You should have seen the Chief,'_ he replied.

'_The Chief?'_

'_The Master Chief, the most capable soldier in the history of mankind. He was part of the second generation of Spartans, after the failed first ones. The second generation was the real one and he was their leader. Lucky, skilled and brave. He was the face of the Spartans and the one to tear mankind out of the darkness, time and time again. Master Chief, the symbol of hope. He was –is- a true Spartan.'_

'_But you are also a Spartan, right?'_ Aeraleth asked. '_Be proud that you would share the name of such a hero!'_

Maine laughed without humor. ´_Me? A Secret-Spartan? I am just a cheap knock-off.'_

'_Do not speak of yourself like that,'_ Aeraleth bit at him. '_You are so much more than the shadow of a hero; you are a person. More than that, you are my rider. And I love you for who you are, not what you are. Now go to sleep little Spartan, for the night shall be long.'_

He didn't want to argue with her on this topic, so he stayed silent. She had pressed her wings down again, closing him in in a tent of veiny membrane and thin bones. If he hadn't been wearing his MJOLNIR, he might have even enjoyed her closeness.

Maine closed his eyes and rested his head on Aeraleth's muscled leg. He had solved his food-problem, gotten closer to his partner and even found a way to sleep without suffering through nightmares. Things weren't so bad after all.

The day after his conversation with Aeraleth went by without a hitch. They moved past Silthrim, keeping up a steady pace. Maine could appreciate a steady pace.

In the afternoon, Arya told them that the forest was still as much a dangerous place for humans as it was for riders. In her head, the Spartan's accident had been proof to that statement. She didn't want anyone to find out about the human presence in Du Weldenvarden, as queen Islanzadí was supposed to be the first one to find out about them.

Eragon could simply wear a hood to hide his human ears according to her, even though the kid was nowhere near the level of elegance and fluency as the elves were. But they had to work with the resources they had and the only resource that Arya could employ to keep the Spartan hidden, was his own skills.

"Spartan, I cannot ask you to do anything to disguise yourself," Arya told him. They had carried the canoes through a thick section of the forest where the river didn't flow and the raven-haired elf had just explained her reasons. "So I would ask of you to simply keep out of sight until we have created the necessary distance between us and Silthrim. Can you do this?"

"Sure," he replied. "On occasions. How much distance do you want?"

"Please keep as close to us as you can," Arya told him. She looked happy that he had agreed to her terms.

Aeraleth also had to keep her distance, as the elves might see a dragon as an enemy. So while the ground-bogged company continued, both dragons disappeared into the sky.

Eventually, the Spartan noticed a series of lights in the distance. After about five minutes, Eragon noticed them too. When he voiced his thoughts to the elves, Lifaen told him that that was the city called Silthrim.

They had to split up again and Daenlith guided Maine through the forest once more. They did not speak a word to each other and by the time they had crossed the sufficient distance to meet up with Arya's group again, the Spartan was certain that Daenlith disliked him.

They made camp a ways from Ardwen lake, where the ground was dry enough to sleep on. The ferocious droves of mosquitoes forced Arya to cast a protective spell so that they could eat dinner in silent comfort. Maine didn't join them, instead choosing to take watch and guard the camp.

Nobody asked him why and nobody asked him to join them.

Afterward, the elves, Orik and Eragon sat around the campfire, staring at the gold flames. Eragon leaned his head against a tree and Orik was playing with his beard in a very subtle and sneaky way, so that nobody actually saw him doing that.

Maine was about to traverse the perimeter again when a woman's voice drifted through the woods from Silthrim, a faint whispering that brushed the insides of his ears like a feather. He frowned and scanned the area with his rifle, trying to get a bead on the origin of the tenuous murmurs.

Like a single bolt of plasma growing to a crossfire of death, the voice rose in strength, until the forest sighed with a teasing and twisting melody that seemed to defy the normal standards of singing and music. A chill ran down Maine's spine as more voices joined the unearthly song, empowering the original theme with a hundred variations. The air itself seemed to shimmer and tremble with the hauntingly beautiful music and slowly, the tension that he hadn't even been aware of in his shoulders simply faded away. The singing did curious things with his emotions; more shivers ran down his mind and he was starting to feel restless in a way that he had never felt before. He wished to seek out the origin of the voices, find out who was singing and…and…that was where the extent of his understanding stopped. He felt so many emotions that he didn't even understand what he was feeling; years of suppressed and corrupted feelings simply seeped away from his mind and he recognized hate, sorrow, fear and even a faint jolt of happiness. He could feel Aeraleth's emotions ten times as wild as his, as her self-control had almost completely disappeared. Half the things she felt were complete gibberish to him, but the other half revealed to him a depth that he had never felt before in her. He felt so much feelings that he almost drowned in their abstract presence; he had to narrow the bond so that he could simply think for himself.

Daenlith grabbed his arm and he immediately felt the desire to grab her arm and pin her to the ground, but not in a violent or murderous way. He felt no aggression or hate against her. She spoke to him and told him to focus, but he couldn't really concentrate on what she was saying. Her waist-long hair and deep eyes distracted him too much and he was painfully aware that her leather outfit seemed to accentuate her body all too well. He had never noticed it before, but the female elves were actually pretty well-developed. He had never before paid attention to females in the UNSC, but now? For some reason, he felt like he wanted to stay close to Daenlith. Like she was important to him.

"Spartan, focus on my voice! Clear your mind!"

He stopped himself from countering her grip, but he couldn't prevent himself from standing up. He wanted to seek out the origin of the singing…but he didn't want to upset the woman standing in front of him. What should he do?

Maine forced himself to relive the memory of his burning home-world and that was enough to shake him out of his stupor. He sat down just as Daenlith whispered "Eyddr eyreya onr", which he did not recognize. But the effect became apparent immediately when the sound-enhancing effects of his MJOLNIR faded away, leaving him to depend on his ears only. The reverberating voices of the singing elves sounded differently to him now and he could finally concentrate on his own thoughts. He looked around and all of a sudden he couldn't remember what had happened for him to get emotional. Why was he feeling like throwing Daenlith to the ground? Why did he want to take her and scout the forest together with her?

He spotted Lifaen and Celdin wrestling with Orik and he saw that Arya had grabbed Eragon's arm as well. Then, the sound that his MJOLNIR had always been augmenting returned to him. Arya spoke a few words in Elfish and the two males stopped struggling.

"What…? " Eragon asked, sounding rather dazed.

"Gerr'off me!" Growled Orik. Lifaen and Celdin lifted their hands and backed away, allowin g the dwarf to get up.

"Your pardon, Orik-vodhr," Lifaen said.

Arya gazed towards Silthrim. "I miscounted the days; I didn't want to be anywhere near a city during Dagshelgr. Our satumalias, celebrations, are perilous for mortals. We sing in the ancient language and the lyrics weave spells of passion and longing that are…difficult to resist, even for us."

Celdin stirred restlessly. "We should be at a grove."

"We should," Arya replied, "but we will do our duty and wait."

Maine shook his head, glanced at Daenlith once more and then decided that he wanted to talk to Aeraleth about what he had just experienced.

"What is the point of Dagshelgr?" Eragon asked, repeating that strange word.

Arya joined him on the ground, crossing her long legs. Daenlith disappeared into the forest and the two male elves were awkwardly keeping watch, as if they had been struck by the magic as well. "It is to keep the forest healthy and fertile. Every spring we sing for the trees, we sing for the plants and we sing for the animals. Without us, Du Weldenvarden would be half its size."

Maine spotted movement on the ground, but it wasn't necessary to pull his rifle out. All kinds of animals appeared out of the foliage and from the looks of it, they were as mesmerized as he had been.

"They are searching for mates," Arya explained. She and Eragon looked awfully peaceful together, even though the angry dwarf made the image appear slightly less peaceful. "All across Du Weldenvarden, in each of our cities, elves are singing this song. The more who participate, the stronger the spell and the greater Du Weldenvarden will be this year."

The entire forest was yammering with noise and a hedgehog lumbered over the Spartan's boot, heading towards some unknown adventure.

Magic had clouded his mind. This place was more dangerous than he had understood.

Orik came around the forest and raised his voice above the clamor. "By my beard and my ax, I will not be controlled against my will by magic. If it happens again, Arya, I swear on Helzvog's stone girdle that I'll return to Farthen Dûr and you will have the wrath of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum to deal with."

Maine, who really couldn't stand any mention of religion on any way, felt almost compelled to meddle in their affairs. "The mind is just that: the mind. If it is strong, you won't be controlled."

No sooner had he spoken those words or he regretted them already. Not only had he just started a new conversation all by himself, but he had also just insinuated that his own mind wasn't strong. He had been manipulated as well.

"Are you saying you weren't affected by Dagshelgr, Spartan?" Arya asked with an amused expression.

Maine kept silent and the elf focused on Orik again. "It was not my intention for you to experience this," she explained, "I apologize for my mistake. However, though I am shielding you from this spell, you cannot escape magic in Du Weldenvarden. It permeates everything."

"So long as it doesn't befoul my mind," Orik angrily said and shook his head. Then he started fingering the shaft of his ax, keeping a close eye on the shadowy beasts lumbering through the forest in the process. By the time Dagshelgr had started, the sun had already started to set.

As such, nobody slept that night. The Spartan heard Eragon and Orik remaining awake because of the animals stalking past their tents and when he had snuck out of his own tent to watch the elves, he had found Lifaen and Celdin pacing in circles. Daenlith had returned from the shadows; not she was staring at Silthrim with a hungry expression in her eyes, her pale skin drawn thin and taut over her high cheekbones. The elves had been unlike themselves since having heard that weird mating-song and Maine was thankful when Aeraleth and Saphira came diving out of the sky after a few hours.

The Spartan –who had been feeling weird all night- watched his partner's eyes sparkling with an unidentifiable emotion. She landed, shivered and then arched her neck, panting between her open jaws.

'_This forest feels so alive,'_ she told him with an excited voice. '_It makes me feel alive too. My blood burns like it has never done…it burns your like mind does when you are suffering your primal feelings, untouched and unburdened by the limits of the mind. Does your blood burn as well?'_

Maine thought of the silver-haired elf and how strange he had felt when she had grabbed his arm. '_Not anymore. Aeraleth, are you-'_

But the dragon wasn't listening to him. She was trembling like never before and her sides were vibrating with unkempt thoughts and emotions. She was creating deep grooves in the ground with her ivory claws and her muscles were clenched to the extreme. It seemed like she was ready to strike in the same sense as a martial artist was; every single fiber of her being seemed to be on high alert.

There was something very wrong with her and as he stood at her side, thinking about what he should say to her, he saw Daenlith looking at the two of them. The elf didn't break her gaze, even as the hours went by and dawn broke. Throughout the night, he noticed that the vegetation around him was growing. Trees were growing new buds and needles, plants were accumulating new growth and the forest seemed to vibrate with the ripeness of new colours. Everything looked so fresh and clean…it felt so wrong. It was the exact opposite of the lost worlds he had been fighting for all his life; what measure was a glassed planet if a bunch of elves could create live by simply singing? It felt so wrong.

'_I feel so foolish,'_ Aeraleth softly told him. '_I felt so different; like I was suffering from fever. But now I am myself again.'_

'_Are you alright?'_ He asked her with genuine concern.

'_I am not. But I will be.'_

Arya removed her spell from Eragon, Orik and Maine. "Lifaen, Celdin? Go to Silthrim and get horses for the five of us. We cannot walk all the way from here to Ellesméra and Spartan will not be able to ride them with his suit. We shall do the same as we did when we arrived here. Also, alert Captain Damitha that Ceris requires reinforcements."

Celdin bowed. "And what shall we say when she asks us why we have deserted our post?"

"Tell her that which she once hoped for –and feared- has occurred; the wyrm has bitten its own tail. She will understand"

The two elves departed for Silthrim after the boats were emptied of supplies. Maine and Daenlith had walked ahead of the group, wasting as little time as possible. The Spartan heard a stick and immediately brought his rifle to bear. But the only thing that he saw was the rest of the group having finally reached them again on large, white horses.

After having marched through the forest for another twenty minutes, Aeraleth suddenly touched down behind him. ´_Maine,´_ she said with obvious hesitation, ´_I thought of something while I was under influence of the elves´ spell. Every creature, no matter how pure or monstrous, has a potential mate. Even you, as strange as you might be, can one day find love. But I…there are no other dragons. With this, I am alone. Even you cannot help me with this.' _

Maine inhaled and didn't exhale again. Aeraleth might be a large and wise dragon, but she was still no older than a month. She was as inexperienced as he was; completely devoid of romance, love or hope. And while there were plenty of candidates that considered him a good match, she was completely alone in that.

He felt bad for her. '_Galbatorix has two eggs left. Our goal is saving them, we can-'_

Aeraleth snorted bitterly. _'It could take years. And even if we did save them, I have no guarantee that they would hatch. They could be female…and the disappointment would be great, as I was to Saphira. Even if they were saved and male, they wouldn't even be fit mates. Fate…has abandoned my race to extinction.'_

In her frustration and anger, she lashed out with her whiplike tail and tore a trio of trees in half. Had she been human, she would have most likely burst into crying.

'_We'll save them,'_ he coolly told Aeraleth. '_This world is big. Dragons could be anywhere…and the UNSC has the technology to create new dragons from existing ones. They could take your DNA and the DNA of a different dragon and use it to grow dozens of new ones. I will not see your race dying out.'_

'_All right,'_ Aeraleth actually sniffed. '_I shall believe in you Maine. As for now…I shouldn't let my feelings get the better of me. You thought me better.'_

'_Don't be like me,' _he replied, thinking back at his psych exam and what had caused it. '_Emotions make you who you are. Only suppress them in a fight.'_

Aeraleth fixed one giant yellow on him. _'Thank you. You are kind.'_

He felt content that he hadn't messed up. The trees ahead grew closer and larger and Aeraleth was quick to sense the change in environment.

'_Go on little soldier. I will be fine.'_

He nodded and watched as the dragoness disappeared into the sky. The silence that crept into their group was only broken by a soft conversation between Eragon and Arya. Eragon had most likely experienced the same sorrow with his own partner.

After fifteen minutes of silence, Daenlith asked: "Is she alright?"

"She will be," he replied. "Once we have retrieved the last eggs." He didn't mention that the UNSC might be able to save the dragon race from oblivion.

They spent the rest of the day –and subsequent night, at his recommendations- with traveling. The trees grew larger and thicker and the forest grew stranger. At times it would rain violently, forcing the elves to summon a green orb of magic in the following darkness to guide them to a place to seek their shelter.

In the afternoon, their company stumbled upon a white structure. Arya and Daenlith touched their chests and bowed, but Maine did no such thing. Eragon and Orik watched with confusion as the Spartan marched towards the large structure that appeared to be just a bit too advanced to appear in the middle of a giant forest.

"Stay clear Spartan," Daenlith told him.

"This building is considered important to our people," Arya explained. "I would ask you to stay away from it."

"This is a Forerunner building," The Spartan replied. He recognized the alien metal, the yellow lights and the almost organic structure.

"Forerunner?" Lifaen repeated with a frown.

"A race that was seen as gods by the enemy of my people," he explained as he approached the building. A shimmering console appeared in front of him and he reached out for it, feeling a strange and almost compulsive desire to touch it, much like he had felt when he had first touched Aeraleth. It seemed to dominate his rational thoughts, forcing him take an action he did not truly want to take. "But they all died."

A yellow console flickered to life when his hand was close enough and he was about to touch it when a flash on his motion sensor got his attention. He twisted around, ready to fight the Forerunner constructions if necessary. But there were no robots –no sentinels or other units. The gloom lifted to reveal an elf standing behind them, sheathed in a brilliant ray of light that seemed to pour down from above. He was garbed in flowing robes and his face looked old and peaceful. His attention was focused solely on Maine and Eragon and for a second, a minor scowl was visible on his face. But then the elf spotted the shining console near the Spartan and he smiled.

"Reclaimer," he whispered with a voice that sounded like a whisper in a storm. His facial expression did not change, but that did not seem remotely positive for the Spartan; in his head, the only ones who know of the word 'Reclaimer' were the Forerunners, mankind and the Covenant. How did this elf know that? What was going on here? Why was there a Forerunner building in the middle of a forest?

"Eragon," Arya murmured, "show him your palm and your ring."

Eragon bared his right hand and raised it so that the ring and the gedwëy ignasia were visible. The elf's smile grew wider and he closed his eyes, spreading his arms as well. He held that posture and after a few seconds, Maine relaxed too. Perhaps there was more going on in Alagaesia than he had initially thought. Now he had a reason to stay –and a reason to fully commit himself to the fight. It helped clear some doubts, that was for damn sure.

"The way is clear," said Arya. At a soft command, her steed moved forward. They rode around the elf –much like a crowd of humans parting for a Spartan coming through- and when they had all passed, the elf straightened, clasped his hands and vanished as the light that illuminated him ceased to exist.

'_Who was he?'_ Aeraleth and Saphira asked.

"He is Gilderien the Wise, Prince of House Miolandra, wielder of the White Flame of Vándil and guardian of Ellesméra since the days of Du Fyrn Skulblaka."

"Our war with the dragons," Lifaen clarified.

"None may enter the city unless he permits it."

"House?" Maine asked Daenlith, who was walking the closest to him. He had expected her to give him some information on the usage of the word 'House' as if it was family, but instead she lowered her head and averted her gaze. He caught a glimpse of a very dark expression before her silver hair obscured her face entirely.

Maine then looked at Aeraleth, hoping for some explanation, but she hadn't even seen it. But while Arya and Eragon continued talking with each other, occasionally including Celdin and Lifaen in their conversation, Daenlith remained silent, her head bowed and her hands clenched.

Half a kilometer later, the forest thinned and breaks started to appear within the canopy. Just like that the forest made way for a large clearing, where a very curious sight lay hidden. Everything pointed at a civilization: there were paths hidden among the brush and trees, soft warm light where normally there would be shadows, an odd pattern in the shapes of the twigs and branches and other subtle signs that this was Ellesméra. The trees were in fact graceful buildings that grew directly out of the pines. One tree bulged at the base to form a two-story house before sinking its roots into the earth, with both stories being hexagonal. The houses were tiered.

The roofs and walls were made of webbed sheets of wood draped over six thick ridges. It was an impressive sight to behold, Maine had to admit that. There were lots of those buildings, all of them enhancing and complicating its surroundings. It was a good camouflage, as it was hard to tell where artifice ended and nature started.

'_The strongest willow will break in a storm, but the flexible ones will survive,'_ he told Aeraleth. He felt apprehensive and threatened; the elves had to be more advanced than he had realized. That made them an even larger threat.

'_Agreed,'_ Aeraleth said, '_the elves have adapted instead of engaged. They have taken their environment without a fight.'_

She got the picture –and he got the inhabitants. Flickers of movements all over the place revealed the position of all elves to the trained eyes of the Spartan; he spotted hands, faces, fingers and feet and in some cases he even saw dark hair among the foliage. The elves were revealing themselves as one by one, they stepped into view. The almond eyes of the wary creatures were fixed upon the two dragons and their riders. The woman wore their hair unbound, letting it flow down their back like a waterfall. All of them possessed that delicate, alien beauty that was completely misguiding to their strength. Even the males were pretty-faced, as they had high cheekbones, subtle noses and heavy eyelids. Most of them were garbed in rustic tunics of green and brown, combined with dark colors of orange, auburn and gold.

The Spartan fully understood why they were called the Fair Folk and he fully saw them as hostile. If he even lifted his rifle in their direction, all of them would attack him. He had stepped into a hornet's nest and he had no way of getting out again.

'_Be at ease little soldier,'_ Aeraleth told him, '_for you are not alone.'_

He wanted to show them the diplomatic gesture for peace, but he couldn't remember it. He didn't know what to do; in front of him was this large group of people that were as agile and fast as elites were and all of them were proficient in magic. The only things he could think of were tactics and maneuvers that he could utilize to kill as many of them as possible and even if he didn't think about violent ways of resolving the situation, his mind automatically pointed out superior positions with good cover. He wasn't thinking like a civilian, but like a Spartan. And that would only cause more problems.

A woman started singing from their midst, but Maine didn't even understand what she was singing about. He saw Eragon clasping his hands over his ears and he automatically linked the gesture to magic, but Arya shook her head and lifted his hands in a rather close movement. "It's not magic," she told him and then spoke a different word to the horses, telling them to go.

The elves continued to sing and Arya proceeded along a cobblestone path covered with bits of green stone, looping among the houses and the trees before crossing a small stream. The Spartan watched as the elves danced around the part, swooping down here and there while laughing and singing. Eragon, Lifaen and Celdin seemed to be happy with their presence, but Maine felt more threatened than when he was surrounded by sword-wielding Elites. Every fiber in his body yearned for him to lash out and the nerves grew so bad that Aeraleth eventually commented on it.

'_Are you scared, Maine? Your nerves are nearly interfering with mine.'_

'_Apologies,'_ he told her and took a deep breath. Arya seemed serious and Daenlith looked downright unhappy, but none of them were as nervous as he was. Was it the singing? Or was it something else?

He nearly punched an elf that jumped to close and he actually had to fight to keep his body focused on walking instead on fighting. The only thing that made the long…parade…bearable for him was the fact that Aeraleth was so happy. The elves praised her and Saphira with names like "Longclaws", "Daughter of the sky" and, in the black dragon's case, "Shadow Stalker" and "Lady of the Night".

Most of those names were silly, but he rather liked "Lady of the Night."

He kept his intense hatted of Ellesméra for himself and continued following Arya as the path took them to a large structure with a door embedded within a wall of saplings. The door then swung open, as if it was connected to motion sensors. It revealed a hall of trees, with hundreds of branches melding together to form a honeycombed ceiling. Below, twelve chairs were arrayed along each wall.

In the chairs, twenty-four elf lords and ladies had seated themselves. All of them had smooth faces unmarked by age and their keen eyes seemed to gleam with excitement. They leaned forward, gripping the arms of their chairs and stared at Arya's group with open wonder. These had swords belted at their waists, indicating that these had earned their spot on what had to be the royal Council.

At the head of the assembly stood a white pavilion that sheltered a throne of knotted roots. Queen Islanzadí sat upon it, looking very much like her daughter. She had a beautiful face with dark eyebrows that were slanted like upraised wings and red lips. Her hair was of the same colour as Arya's was and she wore a diamond diadem.

Despite her fragile appearance, Maine felt like she was true royalty. Her tunic was crimson like blood and a girdle of braided gold hung around her hips. A velvet cloak was clasped at the hollow of her neck that fell to the ground in graceful folds. Everything about her screamed 'queen' and perhaps that was why Maine felt slightly comforted. She would be wise enough to assist him further.

She held a wooden stave in her left hand, with an albino raven perched on the top. It shuffled from foot to foot and then surveyed them with uncanny intelligence. Then it gave a long croak and shrieked "Wyrda!"

The raven could talk. Bloody brilliant.

The doors closed behind them as they entered the hall and approached the queen. Arya knelt at the moss-covered ground and bowed first, then Eragon, Orik, Lifaen and Celdin. Daenlith bowed deeper than all of them and even Saphira and Aeraleth, never bowing to everyone, lowered their heads.

Maine didn't know whether he should treat her like an important civilian or a high-ranked officer and chose to do the one thing he could always do: he straightened his back, clicked his heels together and saluted. He knew that it was probably not the smartest thing he could do, but he refused to bow. Besides; saluting meant more than a bow, right?

Islanzadí stood and descended from the throne, her cloak trialing behind her. She stopped before Arya, placed trembling hands on her shoulders and said in a rich voice: "Rise.

Arya did, and the queen inspected her face with increasing intensity, until it seemed as if she was trying to translate Covenant chatter.

At last Islanzadí cried out and embraced Arya. "O my daughter, I have wronged you!"

So he had been in the presence of an elf princess the entire time without knowing it? It did explain her air of command. Aeraleth was also surprised.

'_Now you see why you should be polite to those you meet? You have almost succeeded in making an enemy from an elf princess.'_

'_I have made enemies in leaders of entire species,'_ he told her with mild amusement.

'_Not something to be proud of.'_

"Islanzadí Dröttning," Arya formally said. The queen withdrew as if she had been stung and then softly repeated herself in Elfish. "O my daughter, I have wronged you." She covered her face. "Ever since you disappeared, I have barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate and I feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence…was my greatest mistake. Can you forgive me?"

Maine couldn't follow them, but the gathered elves stirred with amazement,

Arya's reply was long in coming, but at last she spoke. "For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives are long, but even so, that is no small span."

Islanzadí drew herself upright and lifted her chin. "I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I desire to."

"And I cannot forget what I endured."

"And nor should you." Then the queen clasped her daughter's hands. "Arya, I love you. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you wish to renounce me, I would be reconciled with you."

Was this woman serious? She had exiled her own daughter for no reason but her own silly emotions and now she wished to be friends again without even compensating for what she had done?

Arya hesitated and quickly looked at her audience. Then she lowered her eyes and gave her reply. "No mother, I could not leave."

Of course not. How could she?

Islanzadí smiled uncertainly and embraced her daughter again. This time Arya returned the gesture and the assembled elves smiled. Maine suffered the desire to groan and face-palm.

The white raven hopped on his stand, crackling: "And on the door was graven evermore, what now became the family lore. Let us never do but to adore!"

"Hush, Blagden," Islanzadí told the raven. "Keep your doggerel to yourself." Then she broke free and turned to her guests. "You must excuse me for being discourteous and ignoring you, our most important guests."

Eragon touched his lips, twisted his right hand over his sternum and said: "Islanzadí Dröttning. Atra esterni ono thelduin."

The queen's dark eyes widened. "Atra du evarinya ono vard."

"Un atra mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr," Eragon finished. It was the same ritual as Arya had taught Aeraleth. Maine saw no reason to honour the queen just yet.

Islanzadí looked expectantly at Maine and the soldier could hear his dragon repeating the greeting to the queen. He settled for a simple "ma'am" and then waited for Islanzadi to return her attention to the one who needed it.

"Dragon, what is your name?" the queen asked of Saphira, who replied mentally.

A flash of recognition appeared in the queen's eyes. But she didn't comment on it. "Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And yours, Rider,"

"Eragon Shadeslayer, Your Majesty." This time an audible stir rippled among the elves seated behind them and even Islanzadí appeared started.

"You carry a powerful name," She softly said, "one that we rarely bestow upon our children…welcome to Ellesméra, Eragon Shadeslayer. We have waited long for you."

Then she turned to face Maine. "You can rest easy in our city, young one," she told him. "Take your helmet off."

It wasn't a command, but he still didn't agree with that. His face –his real one- was a secret he shared with nobody. It was the most important thing apart from his name; that which made him human. In a way, his name and his face were his last connections to mankind. '_Aeraleth, I don´t want to.´_

_´You care greatly for your secrets, do you not?'_

'_I do.'_

'_I see. Repeat after me.'_

"I would rather not ma'am," he told Islanzadí with his dragon's words. "My face is to me what a True Name is to you. I would…prefer to keep my helmet on."

The queen narrowed her eyes and inspected him carefully. "You are not from Alagaesia, I take it. Where did you come from? And how did you manage to get bonded to a dragon we knew nothing off?"

"I came from the stars," Maine explained, but that was as far as he got before he pulled his assault rifle from his back and whirled around. At the mere mention of the word 'Stars' at least five elves had jumped to their feet and struck at him with their swords, even as the queen uttered a terrified oath. Arya readied her sword too and Maine had just aimed his weapon at the first elf when Aeraleth roared violently and swept with her tail towards them, blocking the Spartan's shot but also forcing the elves to take a few steps back. For all their sudden ferocity, they would not dare harm a dragon.

"Peace, peace!" Islanzadí called. "Sit, Däthedr, Tanamo. I am certain that there must be a mistake in our communications. Can you tell us your name, rider?"

"I am Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven," he told the queen while keeping a careful eye on the elves that had attempted to strike him down, "from the United Nations Space Command." He paused for a few seconds and then softly added: "Spartan will suffice."

"And you, dragon?" Islanzadí then asked the Spartan's partner, obviously trying to keep the peace she had so very nearly lost."

'_Aeraleth, Your Majesty,'_ the black dragon told the elf queen.

"A good name," Islanzadí muttered. "Your story and explanation of your…curious words…will have to wait just a bit longer."

Then the queen greeted Orik and asked Eragon for his story, as he was more important to the elves. It was just a fact. But as Eragon told her what had befallen him and handed her the roll of parchment that had been handed to him by Nasuada, Islanzadí pulled a new one.

"I see now the true depth of my folly. My grief would have ended so much sooner if I had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad's messengers after learning that Arya has been ambushed. I should have never blamed the Varden for her death. For one so old, I am still far too foolish."

He was about to open his mouth and question her competence as a leader when Aeraleth's consciousness flooded into his mind and forced him to take a double take. '_Keep your opinion to yourself. You have nearly created a new interspecies war purely by speaking the truth.'_

'_She risked a war for her own species' existence because of personal loss!'_ he angrily replied. '_She failed as a leader!'_

'_She does not to know that. Save your insults for later!'_

He kept his remarks to himself for the moment and listened as Eragon asked the queen whether she would promise to help the Varden again.

"My quarrel with the Varden is as dust in the wind," Islanzadí replied. "Fear not; we will assist them as we once did and more, because of you two and your victory over the urgals."

Then she told him that he should not have used the ring that had once belonged to Brom, as it was not meant for him. But then she told him that he had proven himself an elf-friend by saving Arya and in that, the ring suddenly did belong to him. It was really difficult to follow and Maine was slowly developing a thundering headache.

Then, Islanzadí asked Arya for her story and Arya began to speak in a slow monotone, first of her capture and then of her long imprisonment and torture in Gil'ead. During her tale, Maine saw the various signs of a soldier who had suffered PTSD. Her eyes stood sad and vulnerable and her shoulders were tense. She seemed to avoid having to look at anyone in particular and her breathe came in shuddering gasps. Maine felt like Durza and Raia were completely different in that, as the former was plain psychopathic while the latter was disturbed. He decided that, had Eragon not killed Durza, he would have hunted down and eliminated that creature himself. A psycho that took pleasure in torturing was a danger to mankind and he knew _very_ well how deep the traumas of torture could run. He had saved plenty of captured UNSC personnel from Insurrectionists and the rare Covenant party that would take prisoners to murder alike.

When he looked at Arya's eyes, he saw that she had not dealt with the experience. And he had not expected anything less; it had taken him a long time to overcome the experience himself. Then again, he had been younger.

The elves remained silent throughout Arya's tale, although they gripped their swords tighter and their faces hardened with cold anger. Tears rolled down Islanzadi's cheek and, when Arya was done, one of the elven lords paced along the mossy sward between the chairs. "I know that I speak for all of us, Arya Dröttningu, when I say that my heart burns with sorrow for your ordeal. It is a crime beyond apology, mitigation or reparation and Galbatorix must be punished for it. Also, we are in your debt for keeping the locations of our cities hidden from the Shade. Few of us could have withstood him for so long.

Arya said nothing, staring at the floor with a thousand-yard stare that had many elements of sorrow. Islanzadí took a ragged breathe and placed a hand on her daughter's head. "You…are so strong, my daughter. Your suffering has _not _taken place for nothing; we have been joined by not one, but two riders and it is thanks to you that they made it to our city safely. Then the queen sighed and looked down. "But you are both so young…so inexperienced…and we have so little time to learn you two so many things."

That was it. Something snapped in Maine's frustrated mind and he angrily gave the queen his retort. He was so sick and tired of people insinuating that he was a child. He had stopped being a child when the Covenant had burned his planet, fifteen years ago. "With all due respect, queen," he snapped at her, "I have more combat-experience than you do."

The effects of his statement became apparent immediately. The council of elves grew dead-quiet and Arya closed her eyes, her skin growing pale and her hands clenching in anger. Lifaen and Celdin inhaled sharply and took a few steps backwards and Eragon gasped. Saphira growled threateningly, but Aeraleth merely sighed. Strangely enough, Daenlith showed no change at all.

"I must have misinterpreted, rider," Islanzadí slowly said with clenched jaws. "For I thought you had just insinuated that you, who has barely reached malehood, hold more experience than I, who has lived for more than five-hundred years?"

"When it comes to warfare," he replied, "I do." He already regretted having made that decision, as an elven queen could be a very dangerous enemy and he really did not wish to burden himself with the social consequences of his action. But it was time for this land to realize that it was not the center of the universe and that he was not a pawn in some political power play.

Arya was trembling, the elven male called Däthedr had jumped to his feet and pulled his word out again and Islanzadí had gotten to her feet once more, walking down the wooden work until she was standing right in front of him, with merely a few centimeters to spare. She really did look like Arya, with her black hair and her green eyes. Her beauty was unmatched by human females, but it meant nothing to him. As the tall woman stared at him with a sharp glare –she stood taller than most marines, over six feet and a few inches total- he knew just what to tell her. "Who do you think you are, Spartan?" She softly asked him. "Have you no concept of realism? Have you not lived through enough hardship to wash away those childish ideas?"

"I have fought in more than fifty engagements, completed dozens of missions and engaged the enemy of my race on every single front they opened. I have killed many thousands of enemies. I have seen the total annihilation of over a dozen worlds and I have seen millions of people die in mere seconds. I am Spartan zero-zero-seven, a soldier created for the sole purpose of serving mankind," he told the queen –and by extent, her council too. "And I have been fighting a war a hundred times as big as this one for years."

Silence. Total, complete silence. Aeraleth didn't comment, Arya was staring at him evne as Daenlith was staring at him with an odd expression and Islanzadí, the queen of an entire race, had grown completely white during his angry rant. His throat ached and his head pounded; he simply wanted to get out of there and leave the elves, but he could not. He had co me too far to turn away now.

Then…"Even for a lack of the Ancient Language…I sense the truth in your words," the queen replied. Her voice was soft and tears were sprouting from her eyes. He must have sounded harsh or something like that. "This is far too serious a subject to joke or lie about, but…I _must_ know where you came from. What is your story, Spartan?"

Despite her irrational ways, she was good in controlling diplomatic situations. She was smart in her own way. "There are other worlds out there, where humans evolved on their own. I came from one such world. My people and I arrived here several weeks ago, in one of our crafts. We took fire above Uru'baen and I split up from my group, finding Aeraleth's egg in the city. I fought off two Shades-" several elves gasped and Eragon made a soft, choked voice- "and took her with me. I presume the humans in my party to have died."

The queen looked exhausted. "These are troubling times indeed. I must verify the truth of your origins, later. For now…I do not know how to deal with you, Spartan. Let me ponder on this."

Then she turned to Orik and asked him for any words he wished to add. He told her something about the king and how he was thankful to see that the pact would be honored. After that, she turned to the rest of them and spoke, her voice ringing like a bell despite her previous sorrows. "Enough. Our guests wait tired on their feet and we have spoken of evil things for far too long. I will not have this occasion marred by lingering on past injuries. My daughter has survived and returned, two riders and their dragons have appeared and I will see us celebrate in proper fashion!"

After that, she clapped her hands and the chairs and pavilion were showered with hundreds of lilies and roses that appeared twenty feet above their heads.

'_No words,´_ Maine noticed.

When everyone was distracted by the pretty shiny plants, the queen touched Arya gently and murmured something to her that was of no concern to him.

The white raven flew outside and relayed a message to the elves that were probably waiting there and Celdin grabbed Eragon´s hand, telling him that elves were ´pulling open their finest casks and lighting the cook-fires, for tonight shall be a night of feast and song.'

Maine really did not feel like feasting and singing. His headache was troubling him and the queen's cryptic statement was disturbing him more than the fact that the elven council had tried to murder him.

'_The stars must not be very popular,'_ he told Aeraleth and watched as Arya followed Eragon outside, leaving Islanzadí alone with the Spartan.

'_I wonder if they know something we do not,'_ she replied. '_Their reaction to the stars was just too violent for mere coincidence.'_

"Spartan," the queen said as she strode towards him. Her ears were like Daenlith's; longer and pointier than the average elf ears. That did not make dealing with her easier. "Your otherworldly presence has placed me before a terrible conundrum. I believe your warrior's heritage…but I do not know your past. You are hard to judge…and your manners are downright insulting."

He nodded, agreeing with her.

"But," she continued, "even though I welcome you in Ellesméra…your statements mean problems to me that I cannot solve. I cannot let you walk alone in good fate. You are too dangerous."

What did that mean?

"So I shall have someone accompany you while you stay within our city," she then said. "Someone who knows how to deal with…this." Islanzadí then looked around the council, letting her gaze rest on the male lord who had spoken on Arya's behalf. "Däthedr..."

But then she looked a bit father and spotted Daenlith standing a few meters away, who was awkwardly keeping her gaze near the ground and her arms wrapped around her chest.

"No," Islanzadí corrected herself and a small smile played on her lips. Maine severely doubted its friendliness. "Daenlith…you will escort Spartan while he stays in Ellesméra. Make sure that he does not encounter trouble…and that you do not shame yourself."

Daenlith bowed deeply. "It shall be done," she said with a soft tone.

Was it just him, or did Islanzadí look down at Daenlith? Their interactions looked downright played. He would have to keep a close eye on her. And the queen. And Arya. And Däthedr. And Saphira probably too.

…he had to keep an eye on everyone. This was bound to become more frustrating than anything before.

'_Are you well, little soldier?'_ Aeraleth asked him. '_You spoke of man y things at once.'_

'_I know,'_ he replied. '_For some reason I couldn't contain myself. This is worrying. My self-restraint has been decreasing for days now. I cannot fully control my emotions.'_

'_Be proud,'_ the dragon stated and nuzzled his helmet with her snout as the two of them walked out of the large structure, followed closely by an obviously distraught Daenlith. '_It shows that you are growing.'_

He stopped on the crest of a small hill, where a team of elves had set out a long trestle table and chairs. The evening had dawned during their stay in the 'palace' and all around them, fires were glowing intensely.

'_Don't be so quick to judge,' _he told her and threw one look at the large festival that had been gathered in the clearing of the forest. Without saying anything else to her, he turned around and walked away, leaving the black dragon standing at the top of the hill without her rider.

He had better things to do.

* * *

"_Däthedr-Vodhr, Spartan has shown inhuman abilities that no other human can possess. Please…I ask of you to not treat him like just any other guest or elf. He is human, but inhuman at the same time. Can we not diverge from our customs and-"_

"_I appreciate your opinion on this, Daenlith Alfa-kona, but I would rather not discuss this with eld Breoal-vant Älfyar. Remember for once that you lacking a House complicates your standing."_

"_Yes, Däthedr-Vodhr."_

_Conversation between Daenlith and elven Lord Däthedr, approximately one hour after Spartan arrival in Ellesméra. _


	14. the first gear

"_While the Ark was initially made for the creation of replacement Halos, we have recently found out how to use some of the factory-functions for a different purpose. As of a month ago, we have started to construct new experimental frigates and cruisers using the Ark. Our alliance with the Sangheili and the new technological advances that the Ark grants us have enabled us to achieve a great many things, most important of all is full Energy Shielding on an ever-increasing percentage of our ships,"_

\- Motivational speech, Lord Hood – March 23, 2553

~0~

Ever since their ship had taken fire above the big city, Captain Adrian Wren had known that things had absolutely gone to hell. The Spartan had jumped, leaving them in a damaged Pelican dropship as they tried to steer it to the north while continuously taking fire from an enemy that did _not _seem to have possessed guns. There had been no turrets, no installations and no humans with firearms and still their ship had taken enough fire to bring a dramatic change to their plans. And from there, things had gone from hell to the place where the devil went when it died. They had been forced to touch down at the base of an enormous forest, where India Three-Sixteen had attempted to repair her bird. Two hours they had sat there, keeping a close watch on a large perimeter with only seven marines.

At first, it had looked like the pilot might have been able to fix her craft. But then, these…things…had appeared. Floating machines with three metal blooms that were centered on a red eye that was capable of dispensing high-intensity lasers.

Sentinels. First encountered by the Master Chief Petty Officer Spartan one-one-seven at Installation zero-four, sentinels were the AI-controlled drones that protected Forerunner installations from all threats. They had encountered plenty of them on the Ark, where the last collection of mankind's warriors had fought for their very survival. There, they had been friendly.

But like the drones that Battlegroup Lima had encountered during their Operation to retrieve Math-011, these ones had other things on their collective minds. They had surged towards the already feeble position held by the soldiers, seemingly out of nowhere, starting to bombard them with lasers.

The thing was that the lasers hadn't been lethal. He had seen Corporal Hudson getting blasted by at least three of those bright beams, only for the man to get right back on his feet after having been knocked a few feet away from the Pelican with virtually no wounds at all. Captain Wren had quickly concluded that the sentinels hadn't been firing with lethal shots, leading up to him ordering for his men to stand down.

However, more and more of the machines had appeared together with more stranger looking units. Their position had quickly been swarmed by the mechanical bastards and it had gotten pretty obvious that they hadn't wanted the Pelican to be fixed. After half an hour of intense fighting, the units had started to use increasingly dangerous weaponry. So in order to preserve the lives of the men and women serving under him, Captain Wren had called a general fallback, leaving behind the Spartan's Experimental Field-Strip Unit and most of their ammunition. The Field Unit was the least of their concerns, as Wren had only installed it in their Pelican should the Spartan be wounded beyond normal recovery, or in need of replacement parts. There were enough MJOLNIR Mark VI parts on board of the _When Duty Ends _to outfit the Spartan two times over, but they lacked the expertise and knowledge to do so themselves. Hence the stripper.

He, India Three-Sixteen and the seven marines had done the one sensible thing that they could have done: they had temporarily abandoned the Pelican Dropship and moved southwards, away from the enormous forest and towards civilization. They had marched for three days, easily covering a hundred miles before they had finally reached the first sign of civilization: a giant lake. To the south-east of that lake lay a city, one that Captain Wren would soon learn to be Gil'ead.

In the first evening after they had crashed on the surface of the unknown planet, the Captain and his crew made a fire near the large city. There, Staff Sergeant Bryce had hunted down and killed a large doe, like he and other marines had done each morning, afternoon and evening, providing them all with enough food to go through the days of harsh marching. As all of the seven marines were battle-hardened-veterans that had survived at least four different engagements in the Human-Covenant war, they hadn't gone into this situation unprepared. All eight of them –the pilot not included-had brought external survival packs with enough rations and food to last a week each. But as animals were abundant in that area, they wouldn't waste useful supplies.

"Sir," the pilot asked him after they had spent two hours in the darkness outside of Gil'ead, "what are we going to do now? We were chased away from our craft by Forerunner machines, so they obviously don't want us to leave again."

"After the shit they pulled to get us here?" Corporal Hudson added. Corporal Hudson had to be the greenest of all marines in their part; he had the biggest mouth, but he was also the youngest in their party. What had made the soldier stand out so much to ONI had been his excellent scouting skills. Hudson saw things that the rest of them didn't and that often made him their first choice as Point-man. His big mouth however made it hard for Wren to go easy on the kid. Hudson was twenty-seven years old and had more ODST attitude than the rest of them. "I don't think they'll ever let us go."

"Don't worry about a thing Hudson," Second Lieutenant Riley replied. She was the second female member of their group, next to the pilot. She also held the second-highest rank, next to First Lieutenant Mason and Wren himself. She had set herself apart as a very level-headed thinker and mentally-powerful person, chosen because of her nigh-impervious mind. "Once we get the Spartan back, we'll destroy those machines and get right back to the _When Duty Ends_.

Her trust in the Spartan was endearing, but misplaced. Wren had read every bit of information on Secret-Spartan 007 that ONI had available, even the parts that were covered in black ink. He knew of the Spartan's attitude, troublesome service record and –unlike almost everyone that was aware of the Secret-Spartans- he knew that the Spartan would eventually be prone to fits of 'unexplained irrational sensations', meaning that he was going to lose his mind after too long. He had seen it happen with Simon-004 and he knew that it was going to happen to their attached Spartan too. In a way, they were his supporting crew. The soldiers chosen to make sure that he did this job correctly and –more importantly- transport him from one location to the other.

"Let's just see what the captain wants us to do next," the Staff Sergeant stated. "

"Right," Wren replied to the muscular soldier. Staff Sergeant Bryce was easily the most durable marine of their group, matched only by Sergeant First Class Wilks; ONI had plucked him out of the mass because the man had survived at least seven different engagements with the Covenant, getting nailed by almost every sort of weapon out there in the process. Bryce had taken plasma, bullets and even explosives without ever giving up. That sort of determination and discipline was very important to the Office. "At the moment, returning to the Pelican isn't an option. Those drones are too numerous for us to waste munition on and right now, our first priority is finding out why we are here," he explained to his crew. Three marines were currently on watch making sure that they wouldn't get surprised in the middle of the night. "The Forerunners had once made plans to protect the universe from the most powerful threat it has once faced. If they wanted us on this unknown planet with humans that don't recognize the UNSC, they must have had a damn good reason to send us here. It is up to us to find just what that reason is."

"So, a field trip?" Hudson joked.

"Corporal," Bryce swore and he jumped to his feet, but the two scouts that he had sent to the city ahead had returned.

"Sir," said First Lieutenant Mason, who pushed his glasses further up his nose. If anyone ever needed the definition of the word 'spook', they needn't look father than Mason. With his carefully kept beard and moustache, coupled with his glasses, the marine looked just like any other tech expert. But nothing was farther from the truth. The geeky-looking Mason was what the ODST's called an 'utter and complete doctor badass'. His eyes were basically shining with professional calmness and a certain calculating quality that most marines seemed to miss and unlike most their group, he had already been with ONI most of his career. If Staff Sergeant Bryce and First Lieutenant Mason were dropped in the middle of a jungle, Wren knew that Bryce would be the first one to escape, but that the First Lieutenant would escape completely unscathed. That and his glasses were purely aesthetic; there wasn't anything wrong with his eyes. Wren had often suspected that Mason had all sorts of gadgets built into them. "The city ahead is called Gil'ead. Apparently, it's a very important city to the established empire in this land.

"Empire?"

"Yes sir," Mason continued. "An empire that has been established more than a hundred years ago, ruled by a king Galbatorix."

"That sounds Irish," Hudson joked.

"Be quiet Hudson," the Asian Specialist Takeo quietly said. If their group of marines had one man who could be called the stoic, it would the Takeo. The second ONI agent in their group, Takeo had been a specialist for nearly fourteen years. Wetwork, assassinations and even demolition work; Takeo had seen it all. While he wasn't such a favored agent to ONI as Mason was, he had still earned his spot with ONI. And in direct contrast to First Lieutenant Mason, Specialist Takeo was trustworthy. Both of the spooks were completely calm and rational in the face of emergencies, but the Specialist had a little special extra that had Wren's favor.

"Anyway," Mason said and snapped a disapproving look at the young scout, "it appears that we have landed in the middle of a warzone. This land is currently in turmoil; officials in Gil'ead speak of a 'rider', of a rebel organization called 'the Varden' and two people called the Ra'zac…renowned dragon hunters.

"Come again?" Bryce growled. "Hunters of whatnow?"

"Dragons," Mason repeated himself with a moderately amused expression. "I know. It must be some special code word."

Captain Wren, who had long since stopped wondering how Mason was so good at gathering information, was quick to point out the problem in that last statement. "Lieutenant, we are in the middle of a mediaeval city with people that can shoot down UNSC-grade Pelicans without obvious weapons. If they have something that needs the code word 'dragon', I want to know precisely what it is."

"I know that sir. The people aren't very keen on talking; it appears that they have problems of their own. I've overheard some of the guards speaking about things like magic and elves. Either we have a very deeply conditioned rebel outpost, or…"

"Or the Forerunners had more reseeding programs," Wren finished the First Lieutenant's sentence, thinking back on the extreme threat that the flood had meant to the universe. "We got here for a reason, but we need more information. What else did you learn?"

Mason had been accompanied by a rough-looking Sergeant First Class, but he seemed to be keeping his mouth shut. And who wouldn't, when accompanied by an ONI spook?

"I got this map," Mason said without a hint of arrogance or satisfaction in his voice. "From one of the guardsmen. It depicts a land named 'Alagaesia.'"

"Alagaesia?" Staff Sergeant Bryce said with a growl. "Sounds like a nasty disease to me."

"Cut the crap," Wren snapped when he said Hudson smirking at the older marine. To Mason he said: "Show me."

The spook showed him the chart and Captain Wren spent at least half an hour orientating himself with the helpful piece of paper. They had arrived near a thick forest…traveled south to Gil'ead…great. They were in the middle the empire that Mason had talked about –the empire that was hostile to them, as they had opened fire on the UNSC without a single warning.

"What's this?" Wren asked eventually, eyeing a blotch near the southern-most section of the map. "This…Surda?"

"I don't know sir," First Lieutenant Mason truthfully answered. "But if it's not very detailed, I'd wager that it's a country that's not a part of the Empire. We might find friends there."

"Don't be hasty Lieutenant," Captain Wren replied sharply as he eyed the map. Between Surda and Gil'ead lay at least five other cities. One of them was the capital-city called Uru'baen, which was by far the largest city in the empire. Then there was Bullridge, north of Uru'baen and Dras-Leona, south-west of Uru'baen. Furnost to the south-east of the capital and Feinster to the west of that city. All of them were a part of the empire.

"There is still a rather big problem sir," Mason said with a bored voice. "Gil'ead was filled with at least two-hundred soldiers. The empire is a standard medieval empire, with foot soldiers and cavalry. The singer?"

"We don't have enough ammo," Wren replied wearily.

"In one guess sir. Without our Spartan, we might have to…improvise."

"We're not going to do anything for now Mason. We don't know who to turn to, where to search or whom to trust. We need information. Tomorrow, Takeo, you and I will infiltrate this city and learn more about the empire."

"Sir," Second Lieutenant Riley sharply said, "I wouldn't recommend that. The risk is too great and-"

"-while I value your opinion, _Lieutenant, _there is no need to worry," Wren interrupted her. "Tomorrow morning we'll start gathering and fabricating clothes to go unnoticed in the city."

As their commanding officer, Wren's word was final and the remainder of protests quickly died away. However, procuring the necessary clothes to infiltrate Gil'ead was harder than they had thought it to be. The fourth day on Alagaesia came and went by without anyone having done something worthwhile and it wasn't until the evening that Captain Wren spotted a group of travelers approaching the city. Of course, he would want to pay the group for their clothes, but they didn't have any money with them and they didn't even know what the civvies in this land paid with. Bryce and Hudson were already planning an assault when Riley and Flight Officer India Three-Sixteen, Allison, formulated a better idea. They approached the group of travelers, explained that they were specialized hunters searching for new and normal clothes and even managed to get the (male) travelers to give them some clothes.

"Womanly charm," Allison joked when she handed the captain the two sets of clothes. "Always works."

"Womanly cheating," Hudson muttered. "So who is going to be the lucky bastard to go on sight-seeing?"

"Not sight-seeing Huds," Sergeant First Class Wilks clarified. "Infiltration. I think you'll need to stay home for this one."

"You'd think?" Mason sneered.

Wren looked at his two spooks –the two best-fit men when it came to infiltrating a hostile city- and wondered which one he trusted more. Mason might be more experienced, but Takeo was actually loyal to the duty of a soldier instead of just fulfilling ONI's wishes.

Actually, the choice wasn't very hard at all. "Specialist Takeo, tomorrow morning we're going to scout Gil'ead. I want the rest of you on standby in case things go hairy."

The group of soldiers saluted him and started to prepare themselves for the night. Only Bryce, Wilks, Takeo and Hudson had taken sleeping bags with them, so they had to improvise that night. Thankfully there were enough trees around and with seven marines, one pilot and one Captain, they were perfectly capable of creating alternate sleeping places.

The next morning, at the dawn of their fifth day in the foreign country, Captain Wren and Specialist Takeo donned the clothes that the group of travelers had given them, but they had a small problem with preparing themselves for the infiltration.

"They don't fit," Takeo muttered after he had unsuccessfully tried to don the civilian clothes for the third time. They didn't want to risk heading out into an unknown area without the protection that their marine BDU's offered them. Months of peace and technological advances had enabled the UNSC to imbue the normal BDU with the same qualities that the ODST one had, and more. Their sleek, dark-green suits were impervious to small-arms fire and explosive shrapnel, but it would still buckle under heavy fire and plasma attacks. And seeing how the hostiles had used unknown weaponry, they wouldn't risk a thing.

"Cut it open at the sides," Wren replied. "It doesn't need to fit, only to conceal."

The soldier did as he was told and after another frustrating quarter of an hour, the two of them were finally ready to go.

Gil'ead, they quickly found out, was a fishing and trapping center where a lot of hunters could replenish their supplies and sell any hides they had retrieved during their hunt. It explained why the group of travelers had had spare clothes to share with total strangers. The problem was that the city was also a major staging point for the Imperial army, with lots of barracks and even a large fort.

But the soldiers wore short-swords, red tunics and chainmail. The basic mediaeval outfit for the basic foot-soldier. The entire city was completely primitive and even after they had searched the city for several long and tense hours, they hadn't a single thing that could point to an advanced form of weaponry.

In the afternoon, Wren decided that they should check out the nearest inn, as those places were the most information lay hidden for those that knew how to find it.

"I don't like this," Takeo said as he eyed a group of soldiers that were yelling and laughing at volumes way too loud to be professional.

"I know," the Captain replied.

"And why are these guys-"the Specialist mentioned with his head to the group- "drinking in clear daylight?"

"Not every military is well-trained," Wren responded. "These men are probably just taking a break."

"They're not even paying," Takeo continued, looking disgusted with the sight of the soldiers. "Look, all these people pay using coins, but these men don't."

Coins then? The mediaeval state had developed a roughly capitalistic trading society. Good; now they just needed to get their hands on some gold and they could start buying information.

Wren eventually got up from his chair –electing a few suspicious glares from the more sober soldiers- and walked towards the counter.

"Good day," he greeted the barkeep.

"So it was," the barkeep, sporting a fabulous moustache, replied somberly. "Until these lot came."

"Making a lot of ruckus, don't they?" Wren could feel Takeo's glare in his back, but he didn't pay that any mind. This was one of the things that they had all been trained in when they had been picked by ONI, he more than most: information gathering.

"More than that," the barkeeper growled and threw an angry glare at the collection of drunken soldiers. "They break more glasses than I can polish in one hour, they grope and touch at all the women near them and chase half my customers out by simply being here. A ruckus in my business, that's what they are."

"I see," Wren replied, a plan forming in the back of his mind. "If someone were to persuade them to take it easy, how far would your gratitude go?"

The barkeeper looked at him suspiciously. "I'd offer that someone a few free drinks, that's what."

"How about some information?"

At that, the barkeep laughed. It was a rough and bitter laugh. "If you can change these dogs' minds, I'll tell you everything you want to know. You're probably chasing after the Rider, aincha?"

"You got me," Wren said with a smile. Then he returned Takeo and sat down in his chair.

"Any luck?" the Specialist asked.

"In a way, yes. I have some orders for you."

Takeo's face didn't change one inch when he heard what Wren had planned out for him. Then, after he had verified how to get started, he turned to the rampaging Empire soldiers.

"Gentlemen," the Specialist told them with the Captain's words, "could you perhaps take your festivities with more ease?"

The alcohol-induced cheerfulness of the group vanished at once and it grew very quiet in the tavern. It occurred to Wren that this city was a hub of imperial soldiers, so any and all 'civilians' talking back to the soldiers would be frowned upon severely. Had these soldiers never learnt that one of the rules of R&amp;R was never to disturb the civilian population?

"Why, I might ask," one of the larger and bulkier soldiers snarled at him, "does a lark-faced yellow-eyed lackwit like yourself think he can tell us what to do?"

That was a…rather old-fashioned way of calling Takeo out on his old Asian heritage.

"Be polite," Wren muttered to his partner.

The Specialist, who had been looking annoyed at the very start of their infiltration, forced himself to look relaxed. "Fellows, you have lost your manners in your…mugs. Why don't you take it easy?"

"You won't tell me what to do!" The drunken brute exclaimed and pushed Takeo with one arm –or at least, he tried to. At the very moment his arm snapped out to push the Specialist away, Takeo had stepped in and bashed the arm to the side with his elbow. Then, before the foot-soldier could have done anything else, Takeo had utilized that opening to deliver three rapid jabs to the man's face and two to his stomach in the span of two seconds, flooring him immediately.

The remainder of the soldiers –a total of six, not including their floored giant- stepped in to engage Takeo, thought better of it and instead chose a quiet spot in the corner of the inn to resume their partying. Two men shrugged and hauled their friend with them.

"Good job Specialist," Wren told the marine and then moved back to the barkeep again. Said barkeep looked impressed.

"Your friend doesn't look native," the man said and grabbed another glass to polish. "He from Surda?"

"Surda?" Wasn't that the country that wasn't a part of the empire? "No."

"Ah," the barkeep muttered and resumed polishing. "So, you two kept your side of the bargain. What do you want to know?"

The Captain decided to tell the truth. "As you said, we're not exactly from around. We're looking to go to Dras-Leona, but we don't really know how to get there."

The barkeeper then told him what he knew about the city. Apparently, Dras-Leona was home to a cult that worshipped a mountain, called Helgrind, which lay several miles east of the city. Dras-Leona was infamous for its slave trade and corrupt business, but the barkeep didn't want to be quoted on that. The last, useful thing that the man could told him was that the capital city had been raided and that a group of unknown size had stolen one of the King's treasures, having sneakily infiltrated using lies, trust and magic.

Magic. Wren had ignored that word, forging his own conclusion out of the information. The barkeeper had told him that this infiltration had taken place roughly five days ago, perfectly matching the UNSC's arrival at Alagaesia, above Uru'baen. That meant that the Spartan had survived –obviously- and escaped with something important.

That evening, Captain Wren rendezvoused with the rest of the soldiers to discuss their next course of action.

"We are in the middle of an obviously hostile empire, with no back-up and almost no supplies," Wren told his team. "Our Spartan is out there, taking the fight to the enemy. He has escaped out of the capital, but we can be certain that he hasn't gone north."

"That leaves south, east and west," said Corporal Hudson sarcastically. "`Marvelous."

"Shut up and let the Captain speak," Sergeant First Class Wilks growled at the younger marine, who promptly did as he said. Wren placed their map on the ground.

"We know he's not in Gil'ead. But if he had passed there, people wouldn't know anyway. So Two-Sierra can be anywhere. We need to focus on getting out of here alive without him. As the Forerunner's had the best intentions for mankind, proven by their nonlethal methods of getting us away from our ship, they must have a reason to keep us here."

"Sir, permission to speak?" Second Lieutenant Riley asked.

"Granted."

"Mason and I have been poking around sir. We've heard talk of a deeply entrenched rebellion that is opposed to the empire…in Surda."

Surda was the source of a rebellion against the empire? That settled things then. "The thing is we're outmanned, outgunned and outmaneuvered. To stay and fight now, without back-up, would be suicide. We need allies in this fight and the only allies we will find right now are those in the south."

"So, to Surda it is?" Mason lazily asked from his perched position in a tree. "That would take us weeks sir."

"It's either facing those drones or living in the empire for the rest of our lives," Wren said with a grim expression on his face and that was that. They spent the night at the same spot where they had spent the previous night and got up early the next morning to start their long march to the nearest city: Dras-Leona.

Even though they were all burdened by their rucksacks with supplies which, using ultra-light materials, weighed roughly thirty kilograms, were still limited to crossing roughly forty-five kilometers per day. Their environment varied with each passing day, they had to stop to make sure that they drank and ate enough and they even had to plan in a couple of pauses. Combined with a sporadic need to hide from the occasional patrol and orient to their goal, they didn't cross more than a hundred kilometers during the first three days. The fourth day however, they managed to get reach the first city on the map: Bullridge.

Now Bullridge was a large settlement with a garrison of soldiers that was equally as impressive as the one in Gil'ead, though their actual numbers were about half of those in Gil'ead. Bullridge was also a farming-based city, using a river –called the Ramr River- for trading and resources. The nine of them were still fully armed and armoured and while the various hills and forests were perfectly capable of hiding their numbers, the open plains and river-zones made it very dangerous for them to simply march through the open area. Though all of the soldiers they had encountered –and subsequently avoided- had been armed with nothing but swords, spears and bows, Wren just couldn't shake the feeling that one of the cities harbored a secret weapon. Their Pelican had taken actual fire and that was a very important thing for all of them to remember.

In the evening of their tenth day in Alagaesia, Flight Officer Allison and Staff Sergeant Bryce took their turn wearing the civilian clothes and infiltrating the city. They didn't learn anything new or important, aside from more mentioning of magic –these people had to be a very superstitious lot- and news about the mysterious 'rider'.

However, when Wren pressed Bryce tell them just what a 'rider' was, their conversation turned very interesting.

"A dragon rider, sir," Bryce replied with a scowl. "See, these people think that dragons and magicians are real. Apparently, a hundred years ago, there used to be an order called the Riders. These Riders were said to have been keeping peace in this land. And now the empire is looking for a boy who is said to have bonded with a dragon, becoming the new rider."

"Magic is one thing, but dragons? There must be some indigenous animal that looks like a big lizard," Wren voiced his thoughts. "And it must be intelligent in some ways, or a boy couldn't bond with it."

"Sir, you don't truly believe-" Bryce exclaimed, but Wren looked at him with a stern expression and the large Staff Sergeant quickly shut up.

"Magic could explain the days I've been having," Hudson joked. As he was their top scout, he the least fatigued of them all. Maybe that explained his ever-present humor. "I mean, we've been chased away by sentinels which I could have sworn used to work for the Forerunners. We are stranded in the middle of a hostile empire and we are searching for _rebels _of all people."

"Lucky that the Spartan isn't with us now," Wilks murmured.

"Talking about empire," Allison then quickly said, "look what I found."

The pilot handed out a few papers that had clearly been ripped off a wall and as Captain Wren read what was printed on them, he sighed.

It was a very rough image of an armoured marine, together with the sentence: "HAVE YOU SEEN THESE MEN?"

They were wanted. The empire hadn't put a bounty on their heads, but they were asking people whether they knew anything about them. It was time for them to pick up the pace and get to Surda now more than ever.

"Let's go," he ordered the group of marines and despite the fact that it was still evening, the nine of them continued their march for another three hours, going south-west to avoid crossing the Capital city Uru'baen. If there was any place in the Varden where they would be in danger, it would be the Spartan-raided capital.

Eventually they came across a small forest, where they established a small and somewhat sloppy perimeter and went straight to sleep. Each night they exchanged their sleeping bags, so that none of them would spend two nights in row by sleeping on the ground or in a tree. Initially, the soldiers had insisted on Wren keeping a sleeping bag with him at all times.

He had refused that.

By the time the sun stood high in the air on the eleventh day, they had already encountered two parties of searching empire soldiers. They had managed to avoid being detected by them, but Wren knew that it was only a manner of time before they would get located by the empire. They needed something faster, something more durable. They needed-

"Horses," Hudson uttered from his position half a dozen meters in front of them. The scout jumped in a nearby bush, as did Allison, Bryce, Riley, Mason and Takeo.

Captain Wren took one look at the approaching column of riders and knew that this had to be their best chance. If the riders passed them without incident, no big deal. If they didn't…

"Sir?" Sergeant First Class Wilks asked.

"What now?" Lance Corporal Browning whispered. Despite his excellent combat skills, the kid was always nervous.

"Follow my lead," the Captain replied and slowly walked over to the side of the road that they had been following for an hour now, keeping a hand on his belt as the riders grew closer and closer. Eventually, he was able to make out that their numbers ranged around the twelve and that all of them were armed, armoured and angry-looking.

"Halt!" The lead rider called and the rest of the skidded to a halt, just a few meters past Riley and Bryce's position.

They hadn't seen the marines.

"You sir, look familiar," the rider barked and on cue, the rest of the riders took up positions on his flank.

_That's right you bastards. Bunch up._

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" The rider asked in a rude tone, but he didn't get an answer to his question, as Captain Wren pulled out his sidearm and shot him in his face. The powerful pistol-round tore through the man's head like it was made out of wet paper and exited the back, spraying the soldiers behind him with blood and bits of brain.

And Wren's own soldiers opened fire. Within a second or four, all the riders had been killed by well-placed headshots. None of them had even had the slightest chance to retaliate and as the Captain holstered his pistol again, he briefly thought about the wrongness of their situation. Not only had they just caused a bloodbath in the middle of a hostile empire, they had also taken the lives of twelve human.

But he could not dwell on that thought, as they had an important goal to reach.

"Take the horses," he called out when the soldiers remained hidden. "We'll need them to get to Surda in one piece."

The rest of his squad appeared from their hiding places –he was surprised to see Hudson jumping out of a tree, while the Corporal had been hiding in a ditch the last time he checked- and mounted the various horses that were now scattered throughout the area. The loud noises of their discharging weapons had nearly scared them off and it had taken them quite some time to actually catch and calm the horses. Luckily, they were well-trained war-horses and it wasn't very hard to calm them down again.

And after that, the nine of them were free to move again. With the horses to bolster their speed and cover, they were really making progress. They covered ground at _least _six times as fast and like that, the kilometers melted away underneath them. After a mere three days of riding –during which they had been forced to ration their supplies carefully, as the horses seemed to burn through water and food like a Pelican 70 millimeter Chaingun.

They reached the vicinity of Dras-Leona, but by that time the empire had seemed to have declared a full-blown war against the UNSC. Soldiers were patrolling everywhere they went and as a group, they couldn't get anywhere near the city to find out more information about the war, as they would get recognized immediately. So they eventually set up camp south of Dras-Leon, nest to an enormous lake. Captain Wren briefly wondered how he was going to solve his lack of information, when he happened to glance at Mason.

The First Lieutenant was using an old survival trick to sharpen his knife; he grinded a few pebbles to pieces, peeled the bark off of a branch and then drenched the now-bare piece of wood in the lake. Then he rolled the wet branch in the pulverized remains of the pebbles and used that to grind his wicked-looking knife.

It was impossible for Mason to lose his head in a crisis and his level-headed thinking had solved many of their problems. But covert operations and infiltrating were two of his true specialties…and despite his lack of trust for the Lieutenant, Wren knew that he had to utilize the man's gifts if he wanted his squad to remain safe.

Drastic times asked for drastic measures and Wren gave both Takeo as Mason permission to infiltrate the city and find out everything they could about the reason for a well-funded and powerful empire to be chasing a boy and his pet-lizard.

While the two disguised themselves and then left for Dras-Leona, Captain Wren reached for the map again. From the scale of the map and the distance they had already traveled, he gathered that they still had roughly a hundred kilometers to travel. If they succeeded and actually got to Surda, they would have crossed an entire country in just under twenty days. He liked his odds, but he didn't know what they would do after they had reached the Varden. They would have to start gathering information all over again.

But the Captain was roughly shaken out of his thoughts three hours later, as Corporal Hudson suddenly yelled: "Spooks incoming! And…aww shit, they got at least fifty soldiers on their ass!"

Takeo and Mason, who now seemed to possess a collective ass according to Hudson, were indeed chased by a large group of cavalry soldiers.

"We've got company," Bryce shouted with a voice that many a drill Sergeant could only dream off. He pumped an M95 Shotgun –the newer model that held armour-piercing rounds and that could alternate between close-range and medium-range respectively.

"Move out," Captain Wren ordered his squad without hesitation. "We're getting out of here!"

"Sir, what about Takeo and Mason?" the Flight officer asked as Wilks helped her mount her horse.

"They can fend for themselves, can't they?" Lance Corporal Browning asked as he raced past the Captain, joining Hudson in the lead.

"They wouldn't lead enemy troops right back to us," Wren explained as he forced his horse to follow the Corporals. "And neither would they mess up. Something terrible must have happened if they were unable to shake them."

"Can't you feel it sir?" Sergeant First Class Wilks growled as his horse too exploded into movement. "This entire country feels messed-up; the air is twisted and charged with latent energy."

His statement worried the Captain, as Wilks would be the _last _person to complain about strange feelings and nasty weather. That man was as hardcore as hardcore could get –and not even the most grizzled, foul-mouthed ODST's dared mess with him, something that Bryce still had to struggle with at times. But he had no time to dwell on that, as he had to lead his squad to safety.

"Riley, Wilks, Bryce! I want suppressing fire with assault carbines on my cue!"

"Sir!"

"Copy that."

"Sir."

"Hudson, what's the situation!" He barked at the Corporal, who was lagging to their right flank to get a better view of the soldiers chasing them.

"They got at least two dozen guys with bow and arrows. Yeesh, Takeo and Mason are taking their sweet time. Ehm, yeah, they don't really look very happy to see us. There are two guys in the lead wearing strange, black clothes. They look very strange and…wait, does that guy have a beak?"

"Focus son!"

"Sir! The two in the lead are our biggest concern right now!"

"You heard that, Sergeants? Take out those cloaks!"

The two Sergeants twisted around and opened fire on the trailing group of soldiers, just as Takeo and Mason drifted apart and moved to the sides. They had a perfect view on their enemy.

Then suddenly, two riders in the middle of the group forced themselves to the front and one of them gestured with his hand, while the other one sat completely frozen and rigid.

An explosion rocketed past their formation and Wren swore as pieces of rock pelted him and his horse. Those bastards were using some sort of explosive weapon!

He was about to bark an order to the two rear guards, when a powerful pressure slammed into his mind. It felt like a large needle was being driven into his brain and he gritted his teeth, trying to shake the strange presence off. This wasn't some migraine or other sort of bodily reaction to the relentless pounding of the horse-riding; this was something else entirely. The assault on his head made it harder to concentrate and for a split-second, Wren lost control over his body. Then, a stab tore through the base of his skull and the throbbing headache dissipated. He focused on steering his horse and the invasive presence in his mind nearly faded away.

But then a second explosion shook the ground just as Flight Officer Allison was overtaking him and he watched as her horse tripped and fell, throwing the woman out of her saddle-

He instinctively reached out for the woman and, despite pressure on his mind growing worse again, managed to tear her away from her plummeting horse. With a mighty heave of his shoulders, he managed to get her upright. Her feet skidded over the ground and he was forced to completely let his horse go to prevent her from falling again, only using his legs to steer the careering creature.

The pilot reached for his horse too and with a combined effort, he managed to pull her on top of his animal. Takeo and Mason were slowly gaining speed, even as the First Lieutenant was firing one-handedly at the mass of soldiers with a Submachine-gun. Only two of his rounds went wide and the remainder slammed into the chasing force, downing at least seven riders without even hitting their horses.

Now that the two ONI agents had moved aside, the two veteran Sergeants had all the time and space they needed to fill their pursuers with holes .Despite the fact that he had never once ridden a horse in his life, Wilks managed to turn his body around on the horse, sitting with his back to the head of his ride even as he opened fire with his assault rifle.

Bryce didn't need to pull such fancy moves, as he simply turned his torso from the left to the right, firing a long burst each time he increased his grip on the horse. Unlike Wilks, who wasn't even holding on to his horse, Bryce was simply shifting his position like he was sitting on hot coals.

Takeo too opened fire on their stalkers and within a minute after Wren had hauled Allison onto his own horse, more than thirty soldiers had been shot off their horses.

The pressure on Wren's mind lifted with each explosive shot until suddenly, the Captain traced the origin of the power right back to its source. It seemed to originate from one of the cloaked men in the middle of the imperial formation. Not the two hooded figures on the front though, as they were still on the chase. One of them had various holes in his body and…green blood was pouring out? No, that couldn't be. It had to be the distance.

Wren concentrated intensely on the strange mental link between him and the old man that was chasing him and suddenly, it was gone. The pressure had lifted completely and he was alone in his head again.

Disturbing was what it was.

But whatever had happened, the soldiers had decided that they didn't want to lose more men for it. They broke off and veered away to the side, leaving a very visible trail of dead bodies behind them. Thirty dead imperials opposed to one horse. Odds that Captain Wren liked.

But he did not order his formation to stop until they had added at least another twenty kilometers of distance between their group and the place of engagement and by then, the horses were starting to get tired.

When Takeo and Mason had fully caught up with them again, the Captain stepped off his horse and faced the two spooks.

"What happened back there?" He snapped at them. "How did you get spotted, why didn´t you shake them and why did you lead them to us?"

"Believe me Captain, I would like to know that as well," Mason replied with a bored expression. "Takeo and I just found a few pamphlets depicting a certain Spartan, when all of a sudden these guys with missing limbs started screaming at us."

"I can remember my Neural Interface acting up," Takeo added with an equally emotionless face, "just as those people started yelling."

"Then these cloaked bastards show up and chase us halfway across the city," Mason spoke again. This time, a look of annoyance played over his eyes and he pushed his glasses up again. "We shook off all the soldiers that came after us, but not those two. Another one showed up later, but Takeo gave that one an Armour-Piercing surprise to the face-"

The Specialist padded his sidearm for emphasis.

"-and then we had to get back to our horses. Detours, maneuvers, nothing worked. It was as if they could trace us."

Captain Wren briefly wondered whether the mental pressure that he had felt during the chase had anything to do with their enemies' uncanny ability to track them, but quickly discarded that theory. Just a headache, nothing more

"And then?" he asked.

"Then, we decided that firepower would have to suffice." This time, Mason visibly smirked.

Captain Wren pinched the bridge of his nose and refrained from commenting on that obviously smug comment. Instead, he decided to bring a new point to bear. "Did you at least hear anything useful?"

"Yes sir," said Takeo. "Here too they think about magic. Also about dwarves, elves and a race called urgals. Dragons…they didn't like to talk about."

"But one of their commanders spoke about a second rider," Mason commented. "One that was connected to the imperial robbery."

"Shit," Bryce muttered. "You don't think that the _Spartan_ is connected to this 'rider and dragon' bullshit?"

"I hope not. Imagine the sight of a dragon-riding Spartan? Never mind these people; that sight would scare the piss out of the Covenant." Mason had found a spot to play with his wits again, it seemed.

"Anymore?"

"We're getting more wanted every day sir," Takeo said. "They're looking for us in every major city now. Surda seems like our best shot for the moment."

"Think we can meet the elves there?"

"Shut up Hudson."

~0~

**Four days later**

As her black cloak whirled around her legs, the Shade brought her sword to bear and easily parried and overhead blow, battering her foe's sword out of its human's grip.

As the bearded man cursed and attempted to back off, she bounded forwards and lobbed his head off with a particularly powerful swipe. While she dodged the splatters of blood that her action had created, she turned to face the remaining seven men.

"What are you?" the lead human hissed in fear. The six men behind him raised a collection of swords, spears and axes, never quiet taking their eyes off of the thirteen corpses that lay sprawled across the sandy grounds.

A sudden gale of wind picked up and in a particularly ironic moment of coincidence, it blew her hood off. Her shoulder-length hair, as red as the blood of her foes, was trailing freely and her deadly pale skin only seemed to enhance the hellish glow.

"Shade!" Three of the men exclaimed, now completely and openly trembling with fear.

Raia eyed her opponents one final time, knowing that in just a few moments, all of them would be dead. While she never showed mercy to her human prey, she had gone through unusual effort to hunt these 'men' down. Slave-traders, preying on the weak and defenseless in Surda. From what she had gathered from the occasional human gossip, this particular group had been leeching off of society for a few months now.

And as much as she hated humans, she hated these sorts of people even more. She had spent an entire night haunting them, playing with their minds and driving four of them to an emotional breakdown by constantly appearing in those places where they only spotted her once, from the corners of their eyes. They had only understood that something was actively hunting them when she had spirited one of the biggest and meanest member of their group away in the early morning, allowing the rest of the group to find him hanging from a nearby tree.

And now she was going to end them. She didn't even need to use her mind or her magic to kill them; she simple dispatched all of them with simple strokes of her sword, painting the hot sand redder and redder with each life she took. She wasn't needlessly cruel to them in their final moments…but neither were their deaths very pleasant. She tried to stab more than slash, as such kills were always more…intimate. Satisfying. After all, even her sword was made to penetrate rather than to slash.

After the last human body hit the ground, defaced by a large puncture in the chest, Raia grabbed her hood and pulled it over her head again. Pathetic as they had been, the slavers had been making a lot of noise during their deaths and there was bound to be a large number of humans approaching her location to check on things. She had better return to the Varden encampment.

The Varden encampment…Nasuada had only just begun integrating the Varden in Surda and most of the civilians were stationed in Aberon, the capital city. But Nasuada was preparing an attack on the Empire already, the foolish girl. She would need at least one rider with her to properly engage her enemy in open warfare, otherwise the empire would simply shrug her attack off and destroy the Varden.

Foolish as Nasuada was, she knew how to exert her command. And as Raia marched past the various patrolling soldiers, she wondered about her own future. She was a Shade; there should not be any future for her. There could not be a future. The people in Alagaesia were just too stupid –too blind to see her as something more than that. Everywhere she went, she would be hated and loathed and attacked. There would be no peace for her in this land. But she had one person she could trust so safeguard her future for her and as long as that person remained alive, she would remain loyal to her.

And Spartan was out there, training with the elves. He did not hate her, because of his otherworldly origins. Her oath to him would prevent her from fighting him when, in the end, her Mistress made the move to retrieve her rider. All of Alagaesia would be in turmoil when that happened; the King and the Varden were one group against another and people could either support the one or the other. But the Mistress was an unknown factor in their silly war; once she set her eyes on something, she would rest at nothing to get it.

And Raia knew that, should her Mistress choose to, she would tear both the Varden and the empire apart to get it. Him. And there would be nothing that Raia could do to stop it, as she was loyal to the both of them.

She made her way to the large castle in the middle of Aberon and handed the guards the piece of paper that would excuse her from having to be searched like any other traveler. The cowl on her head and the long cape around her body made her suspicious to them, but they wouldn't dare disobey Nasuada, leader of the Varden.

And if they did…she would have another bloodbath on her hands.

As Raia walked through the hallways that carried her to Nasuada's office, she remembered how distraught the rider had been to hear that he was going to the elves. She hadn't seen his facial expression or anything like that, but his tone had spoken volumes. She didn't particularly like the elves herself, but…there had been no reason for Spartan to act so disturbed.

She reached the guarded room and one of the guards bashed his fist against the wooden door, signaling that Nasuada had a visitor.

On the lady's spoken intent, Raia was allowed to enter. The first thing she noticed when she stepped inside was that the dark-skinned woman didn't look very good. She had an annoyed expression on her face and bags under her eyes. She must not have had much sleep.

"Raia. How fortunate to see you." Nasuada made it sound like it was anything but fortunate to see her, but the feeling was completely mutual.

"Lady Nasuada," Raia said and bowed mockingly. "I share your feelings."

"What is it you seek?"

"I wish to express my concerns regarding some of your…decisions of placement."

Nasuada crossed her arms and glared at her. "Explain yourself."

"On our way to Surda, the less trained sections of your people would have been preyed upon by human slavers on four different occasions."

"They would?" the woman spoke, her eyes betraying honest concern. "What happened?"

Raia raised an eyebrow and Nasuada sighed.

"Of course. While I thank you for your deeds, I must know where your concerns truly lie."

"Today, I ended another slave-band. The people are growing restless…and I can sense that your troops are not yet ready for war. What are you planning regarding the empire?"

"While I do not share my battle-plans with everybody –especially not individuals like yourself- I understand that you aim for the Varden's wellbeing. I can respect that. Very well then. I do not aim to attack the empire just yet, as I know we are woefully outnumbered. Even with you in our ranks, we cannot afford to think that we can match them."

"With me in your ranks?" Raia asked with a hint of amusement. "You would use me as a soldier?"

Nasuada frowned. "Of course I would. I might not trust you, but the Spartan does. I will not let my opinions of your kind get in the way of what I need to do. You hold as much experience and abilities as an elf does –and seeing as you managed to help Eragon with his back, I take it that you know even more of magic than some of the elves do."

"I do, but I had not thought that I held enough trust for you to enlist me in the Varden's ranks."

"We must not allow our feelings to cloud judgment, Raia. Your deeds in the past might have set you as our enemy, but the war against the empire has made us allies. You said yourself that your Mistress does not serve the king, did you not?"

"I did."

"Then it is settled," Nasuada stated. "You will fight on the front-lines should the moment arise."

"Do not outstep your boundaries, _lady Nasuada,"_ Raia growled. What human could think of ordering _her _around? She, who had ended the lives of a hundred men and women? "I owe my loyalty to Spartan, not to you. I help the Varden because he does. Only he holds the power of commanding me."

Much to her confusion, Nasuada smiled. "Of course. And I take it that your decision to help Eragon with his scar was also because of your rider, despite his self-acclaimed disinterest in all suffering around him? And I suppose that you killing an infamous band of slavers was also on his orders?"

Raia bristled. Not because of the human's particular choice of words, but because of the truthfulness of them. Nasuada held wisdom rarely seen in her age; of course she was right. She knew that this war could take months, if not years to resolve. Spartan was not the type of person to switch allegiances and neither was her Mistress. If she were to keep living on as she was doing now, she would have to stay with the Varden for a long time.

And she didn't want to be all on her own during that time. Serving the group of rebellious warriors was one way of getting their trust, but she wasn't yet ready to actually and openly support them. So she worked from the shadows, gathering enough courage to take some action…and searching for a person that could look beyond the irrational and burning hatred for her kind.

So far she had not found that individual yet. There were so many things that she wanted to experience…and there were so many things that she would never be. But she would not yet accept that; the knowledge that there was even one individual out there who didn't care for what she was, was enough to grant her the strength to keep going.

"When Spartan told me to stay with the Varden," she gave her reply, choosing her words with great care, "he told me to keep them safe. I can not keep them safe if I must scurry around like a wretched Ra'zac. If helping Eragon is what it takes to improve my standing, so be it."

"I see," Nasuada softly said, staring at the Shade with a calculating expression. "Is there anything else you want to say?"

"Only this: keep a close eye on your surroundings, daughter of Ajihad. Your father has not survived this long without being careful…and he has most likely never had to worry about true attempts on his life in Farthen Dûr. "

"Thank you, Raia," Nasuada started, but then she paused. "Eragon killed Durza, granting him the name Shadeslayer. Spartan has a complete collection of names, based on his abilities. You need such a name too, if I am to call you more often. I take it you do not wish for the men to know your name?"

"You take it correctly."

"Think of it," the Varden's leader then decided. "I shall give it some thought too. Until then, I must ask you to leave. I have lots of things to do."

Raia nodded. "Of course, _lady." _A smile played on her lips when she saw that a shiver ran down the woman's spine and then she left again. So she needed a name? 'Shadeslayer' was quite the famous name, as not many people could kill her kind. Two people thus far had managed this feat; a Rider and a powerful elf. It wasn't that Eragon was so special, but more that he had been exceptionally lucky…and being friends with an elf like Arya helped too. It had taken a combined effort of the rider, his dragon and the elf to bring down Durza.

Spartan had managed to do so twice on his own, yet he was not called Shadeslayer, as he had not truly taken her life.

What was it that defined her? Her hatred for mankind? Her ability to take other people's lives? It would hardly do her any good if she walked around calling herself 'Bane of men'. If she were to take a name, it would be one that defined her as a person. And the thing that set her apart, like Eragon having killed Durza, was the fact that she was the only Shade that still possessed the mind of a human.

Perhaps she could find something in that.

~0~

Even though he had left the festivities behind him, he could still hear the enchanting voices of the singing elves reaching out to him. Arya had disappeared somewhere, Eragon and Saphira had joined the elves in some massive feast and Aeraleth was with them too. For a war-ridden land, the various races were very quick to throw parties. To Maine, such activities were a waste of time and resources. He wasn't going to play nice with these elves after they had nearly attacked and seriously belittled him. Even if they hadn't, he wouldn't have taken his helmet off anyway, meaning that he would have stood at rigid attention for the entire length of the event. No, he would much rather be alone. He felt disturbed for some reason; as if there was something going on around him that he just couldn't explain. It was frustrating.

He marched through the forest until he had placed at least five-hundred meters between himself and the elves. He had thought them to be wise and disciplined; creatures of intelligence and magic. Magic they were, but the rest? They were a disappointment. They behaved erratic and acted with needless complication in their lives. Their customs were harder to understand than raw Covenant glyphs and their minds were as hard to understand as human minds were.

Maine didn't lie to himself. He was longing for a return to the old; to fight against a foe that, despite always winning the greater battles, could be defied with every single little conflict. He missed living his life in such a way that he understood what was happening to him: win the war one mission and engagement at a time. He didn't long for free time or a life of peace.

No, of course he wanted peace. Peace meant an end to the years of suffering that his kind had been put through –and peace would mean his own end. He was a Spartan; a tool for warfare. He existed to win wars and when the war was over…nobody would need him anymore. The missions that ONI had been giving to the Secret-Spartans had grown increasingly rare and simple; they were running out of Insurrectionists to beat down and Parangosky had been forced to move with extreme caution, lest she forced mankind into another war.

He could have felt the end of his usefulness coming. What was waiting for him after the war? A life as a civilian? No Spartan could ever life as a normal person. It was impossible. He could not imagine the true Spartans living a normal life and he could not image the Secret-Spartans –with their fits of aggression and mental problems- living a normal life.

He heard a small branch snap, roughly forty meters to his left. Upon closer investigation, it appeared that he hadn't been all alone in the forest after all.

"Arya."

"Spartan?"

He faced the black-haired elf, who was sitting on a fallen log underneath a different tree, with moderate suspicion.

"Why are you here?" She asked him. Her voice sounded…off. Distracted…troubled…weak.

"I heard something," he answered truthfully, "and I came to investigate."

"Leave me be Spartan…I have no desire to be near you now."

The way she made the word 'now' sound indicated that something was troubling her. Why wasn't she with the rest of the elves? With Eragon? Why was she here, all alone?

"Why are you-"

"I said leave me be!" She snapped at him, louder than she had ever sounded.

Maine didn't know what to do with her. Aeraleth wasn't there to assist him and when he was on his own, he only knew how to kill people. That was the sole reason why he would not be able to function in a time of peace…and he refused to allow that to happen.

So he started thinking. Sifting through every single fact he knew about the elf in less time than it took a human to blink, he stumbled upon the way she had spoken to the queen. She had been disowned because of her desire to help her species deal with the other species as an ambassador –as the egg-courier. She had lived all on her own for seventy years and even he could understand that, for a normal person, being so long without your kind had to be unpleasant. And there was more. She had been tortured by Durza –a Shade- for weeks. Even though the ways that the people in this country employed to torture had to be…primitive at best…her ordeal could not have been pleasant. She was carrying a burden with her that had caused many a soldier to be driven to suicide. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder they called it. Arya had to be suffering from PTSD…and without proper psychiatric help, she would only sink deeper into a manic depression that would ruin her life. Even though she was an elf, she would suffer by her own mind.

Without really intending to, he opened his mouth and started talking in a quiet voice. "You should talk to someone."

She raised her head and looked at him with an expression that wouldn't be unfit for a Zealot about to skewer a Spartan with its sword.

But he didn't give her a chance to talk. "Nobody can deal with the memories of torture on their own. At night, you will relive it." Then he quietly added, "You already have."

Arya opened her mouth with an angry expression, stopped herself and then put on an impressive mask to hide her emotions. "What would you now of torture?" She sounded like he was a child telling her to suck it up; like he was offending her in the most terrible way.

He knew plenty of torture. Five years after his Augmentation Procedure, the UNSC had caught wind of a large Insurrectionist presence on some backwater planet. Apparently, they had been smuggling lots of supplies –and narcotics- with other organizations that ran a large black market. The UNSC didn't know enough exactly which planet it was and their Intel on the Innies had been shabby at best. To send in the marines or the Spartans would be a stupid waste of resources so Parangosky in all her wisdom and glory had decided to send in a Secret-Spartan with a tracking beacon to stow away on one of the pirate-ships. He had deeply infiltrated their ranks without his MJOLNIR, as ONI's nasty habit of sending Spartans without their suit had already developed. However, the Innies had been tipped off by someone. A source had told them that UNSC personnel would be infiltrating them and in a manner of hours, they had found him.

"Enough," he said and remembered how people liked it when someone was near them. He stepped closer to Arya –refused to look her in her eyes- and pondered over his next course of action. "First-hand," he quietly added. He understood that this was something very private to be talking about, but he had to face it: to this world, both Arya and Eragon were more important than he was. And more important than that; he could save the elf from years of mental suffering with just a few words of his own. His desire to remain quiet was not worth seeing another person's life being ruined. After the things he had done, he had lost the right to want things for himself. And…protecting people was his sole purpose in life. If he could protect Arya from herself, as a true soldier, should he not help her?

The elf faced him again. "You told my mother that you had more experience than her in war. She believed you."

So?

Arya looked down again and fumbled with a fallen leaf, crumbling it in her hands, which had grown white with the amount of pressure they exerted on the little leaf. She really did not look happy. Even her face looked disturbed now; her eyes looked like they were about to be filled with tears and through her parted lips, he could see her gritting teeth.

Then…"How did you cope?"

…how had he coped? Simple: he hadn't. Not truly, anyway. His training had prepared him for normal torture, but not the way those crazy Insurrectionists had lost their mind. As ow zHo

he had looked no older than seventeen at that point, the then-current rebel leader had been happy to try some of their own…conditioning programs...in an attempt to break him and convert him to one of their own soldiers. When after two days he still hadn't broken one bit, said leader's eagerness to inflect harm had quickly and inexplicably turned into an obsession that had scared all but his most messed-up followers away. He had then skipped the more subtle manners and instead turned to the most extreme manners of conditioning, seeking to take away from him every single thing that provided him with happiness and joy and deeply corrupt that.

"The psychiatrists said that I needed to talk to others about what happened. Said that talking eases the burden."

"Did you?"

"…no."

It had taken ONI ten days to trace his beacon back to the Insurrectionist outpost. It hadn't been the most happy period of his life…and neither had it been the Innies'. He had constantly broken out, murdered their personnel before being captured by all sorts of traps and nasty devices. At the dawn of the tenth day, he had lost himself completely to what would be his very first fit of aggression. He had absolutely slaughtered all their personnel, even the ones that hadn't been responsible. After that, he had killed three members of the ONI personnel sent to retrieve him. According to later interviews with Mental Health Specialist Sunfield, he had gone completely feral.

e He He exhaled quietly when he remembered the days with sudden clarity. ONI had been forced to bind and shackle him like a wild animal and pump him full of drugs to contain him. And not they feared that he would hurt himself.

But despite having endured everything that the Innies had thrown at him, the psychiatrists had concluded that he had still broken down in some way.

And he couldn't blame them. After all, the fits of aggression had started back then. And they had not stopped, not ever.

"Why haven't you-"Arya whispered, but the fresh memories frustrated him. He didn't want to talk anymore.

"If you don't trust your mother or your own kind, talk to Eragon."

The elf nodded gravely and stood up, no longer staring at him in disgust or anger. Before she left though, she had one more thing to say. "Spartan, you bring Aeraleth so much unhappiness. If you would not touch or ride her, at least be there for her. With her."

And with those words, she left.

Maine felt a shiver run down his back and he wondered why he had broken. His training had started when he was…four? Five? He had had years to train his body and mind and shutting out pain was one of the first mental skills that he had learnt, together with mediation and…well, the indoctrination. He should have been ready for all sorts of ordeals…although not even ONI could have predicted that such a vile person had been behind those Insurrectionists. The men who had laughed at the memory of shooting unarmed civilians had shuddered when their leader had revealed what he was going to do to Maine. Of course, that revelation had been a part of the torture itself. Tell the victim your methods…show the victim the instruments of your methods…use your instruments and methods on the victim. Those were the three steps of normal interrogation and torture techniques.

He didn't really know what to feel more ashamed of: his sheer lack of discipline in his aggression-fits, or the fact that the memories still seemed to plague him…

A few minutes later, the Spartan had made his way back to the feast. Arya was sitting next to Eragon instead of the queen and despite Islanzadí's obvious dissatisfaction with that, the young elf didn't seem to care.

The elves were greatly interested in both of the dragons, but the closer the Spartan got to his partner-of-mind, the more he could feel that her feelings were not at all positive. He had been constricting their mental link more and more lately and that should stop. They were partners after all…and she had been there for him always.

He concentrated on the link and immediately felt the results when Aeraleth's full emotional burden came crashing down on him.

'_Aeraleth.´_

She took a minute or two to answer, during which he stood in the shadows that her body casted in the light of the fire. Finally, she relented and replied, but she sounded strangely calm when she did. ´_Maine. Where have you been?'_

Perhaps it was the elves constant singing that affected her? '_I was away.'_

'_But now you are back.'_

'_Yes.'_

'_Why?' _Her voice took a sudden aggressive quality.

'_I encountered Arya. We talked. I told her to seek help. She…pointed me at your own needs.'_

She uttered the dragon-equivalent of a sigh. '_I asked after the reason of your departure. Your absence hurts me, do you not know that?'_

'_No,'_ he replied, feeling a small stab of guilt. ´_Were the elves mean to you?'_

Much to his surprise, Aeraleth snorted and a plume of smoke exited her nose, powerful enough to knock a bowl of vegetables into a brown-haired elf's lap. He looked shocked, but his friends laughed. '_Mean? Elves? They treat me like I am their queen. It is interesting.' _Her voice quickly lost its humor though. ´_Why do you always leave me? I can understand you not riding me…or not even touching me…but will you not even stay with me?'_

He gently placed his gauntlet to his flank and, when she didn't shudder or pull away from the cold metal, told her, '_We're in this together. I needed to remember that. I do now.'_

'_Do you really?'_

He made a mental note to take off his gauntlet and inspect the strange symbol on his hand when they were alone. After he had done that, perhaps he could also…do whatever it was that people did when they touched others to show their affection. How would a dragon appreciate his physical contact anyway? On her nose? Her tail? The top of her head?

It didn't really matter. He would find a way. He always found his way. '_I won't forget it.'_

'_Is that a promise?'_

'_That's a promise.'_

~0~

"_It has occurred to me that the Secret-Spartans are different form the II's in another aspect. It is probably because of their rather cruel augmentation procedure, but I have seen several strange mental disorders arising that are in no way a direct result from the drugs. Math-011 for example is unable to read facial expressions. Helia-009, Maine-007 and Simon-006 are all prone to sudden mood changes that vary in intensity and Arminal-002 has difficulty talking. It has also occurred to me that these traits are not positively contributing to anything at all."_

_Mental Health Specialist J. Sunfield, 10th of April, 2547_


	15. Their emotions

As the strange festival dragged on, Maine started to see the most idiotic things. Elves had placed platters with food on the large table, ranging from loaves of bread to stacks of small cakes. There were all sorts of fruits, vegetables and sauces yet there was no meat. No fish, no stews, nothing. It was strange; perhaps the elves didn't eat meat at this time of the day?

Islanzadí was seated at the head of the table with Blagden, the raven. The elven lord called Däthedr was sitting to her left and Arya, sitting next to Eragon, sat to her right. Orik sat across from Eragon and the rest of the elves had seated themselves somewhere else. Daenlith was also sitting at the table, but she looked nowhere near as comfortable or happy as the other elves.

Huge carved plates had been placed at the far ends of the tables, where Saphira and Aeraleth. The elves had started to notice him standing in the shadow of his dragon and more than once, an elven woman had approached him, asking if he wouldn't sit with them.

He had kindly refused their offers, saying that he wasn't hungry. People were laughing and talking without merit and the elusive music kept going on, whispering near his ears and playing tricks with his mind.

He eyed Eragon looking at Arya.

'_During your conversation with the queen,'_ Aeraleth asked him, '_your words held a scale unlike I had heard before.'_

'_It's the truth.'_

'_I know that little soldier. But was your war so terrible?'_

'_It's the reason why I forbade you from entering my mind without me knowing it.'_

'_You spoke of the destruction of a dozen worlds. Of millions of people having died.'_

'_I did. I'd rather not discuss it.'_

'_Is the memory so painful then? Even to you?'_

'_I don't want to confront you with that now. You should enjoy yourself.'_

As it happened to be, the elves were more interested in her than in him. For the first time in his life he wasn't the single conversational topic of the people around him and he loved it. He had dumped the EFSU near the edge of Ellesméra and before he had caught up with Arya and the rest of the group, he had taken the time to scrub the gore off his armour. All in all, he was content. No people gawking at him, no rumors and whispers spreading about him…and Aeraleth could finally relax. A win-win situation for all of them, right?

Islanzadí was watching Eragon and Arya talking with each other. The elf was telling the human how she had never told anyone about her mother, not even Ajihad.

At that moment, the raven jumped from the queen's shoulder and strutted down the middle of the table, bobbing his head left and right in a mocking bow. He stopped before Saphira, croaked roughly and then said:

"Dragons, like wagons, have tongues. Dragons, like flagons, have necks. But while two hold beer, the other eats deer!"

_These people know of beer?_

The elves froze with mortified expressions while they waited for Saphira's reaction. After a long silence, the dragoness looked up from her quince pie and released a puff of smoke that enveloped Blagden.

'_And little birds too,'_ she said, projecting her thoughts so that everyone could hear. While the elves laughed and the raven staggered back, cawing indignantly and flapping his winds, Maine wondered why Saphira's voice sounded so different from Aeraleth's. Both of them sounded like young teenagers, but Saphira was…different. Perhaps it was because he was simply used to Aeraleth in his head?

"I must apologize for Blagden's wretched verses," Islanzadí said, suppressing a smile. "He has ever a saucy tongue, despite our attempts to tame it."

Saphira accepted the apology and Eragon asked Arya where the bird came from. Arya explained how the bird once saved her father´s life by attacking an urgal who had been about to kill the elf. The raven had pecked out its eyes, allowing ´Evandar´ the victory. Her father had then thanked the bird by blessing it with spells for intelligence and a long life. But the magic held effects he could not have foreseen, as the bird lost all colour and gained the ability of premonitions. It sounded rather ominous.

Another thirty minutes went past and Maine was starting to feel bored.

"Tell me Spartan-Vodhr," one of the elves then asked him, as if he had felt the Spartan's state. "Why have you come to Alagaesia? Your arrival was timed perfectly, as none but the strongest Riders can stand against the King, but what made you come?"

"My ship broke down," he replied.

"Ship?" That got their attention alright.

"You approached the coast?" Däthedr asked.

"No. We took fire above Uru'baen and I had to jump."

An excited murmur ran through the elves and even the queen was paying attention to him now. "You jumped above the King's capital?"

'_Why is she sounding so surprised?'_ He asked his partner.

'_Because the king has thousands of soldiers in his city. Because he holds command over a group of deadly magicians and because he is the king? No living creature can get inside that place without him knowing. No living creature besides you, that is,'_ she then kindly added.

Despite the nature of the words directed to him, he didn't feel proud. His maneuver had been pre-determined and his actions had served only to hurt the empire.

But the elves didn't see it like that.

"Ilirea holds all of the oath-breakers forces," Islanzadí mused, using the elven name for the capital. "I take it you stole Aeraleth's egg there?"

"Yes Ma'am," he replied.

"It must have been an egg that we didn't know about," Däthedr commented softly. "But how? How did you do what took the combined forces of the Varden and the elves decades to orchestrate?"

The elves had never supported the Varden in stealing Saphira's egg. But Maine didn't feel like overstepping his ego again –he had done so out of frustration and anger to keep the queen's comments at bay, but he had instantly known that it had been a mistake. "I infiltrated the city. There were only two guards and after I had fought them off, I could escape."

"Only two guards to defend an egg?" The queen asked.

"Shade guards, Ma'am," he clarified and as he had expected, the table broke into chaos. The elves he had identified as 'important started discussing with each other, Däthedr frowned and stood up while a woman touched his elbow and whispered for him to seat himself and the queen had to hush them all into silence. Eragon was openly staring at him and the Spartan could see Arya beholding him with a new expression; honest curiosity…and perhaps a bit of awe.

"You fought off two Shades at once?" A female elf asked him, her normally stoic appearance making place for shock. "How did you manage this? Only four people have fought and lived through an encounter with a Shade –Eragon being the last in a long time."

"I didn't kill them," he quickly clarified.

"Even so!"

"I'm a Spartan," he explained. "Humanity's finest."

"If you are humanity's finest," one of the male elves at the table then said, "that still does not mean very much. I look forward to seeing your skills in action."

"Sevenar!" The queen snapped. "Mind your attitude!"

"My queen," the elf bowed and sat down again, but Maine could not help but feel like the elf sounded smug. And that annoyed him.

'_Humanity is so much more than these hippies,'_ he growled at Aeraleth, who was very quick to reply.

'_Do not lose your temper now Maine! You are in the presence of everyone important to the elves. One outburst can be forgiven, but two would make you look childish and foolish.'_

She was right. He should not lose his temper. His last aggression outburst had been days ago and he didn't want another one to happen; should that happen now, he would murder at least a dozen elves before Aeraleth could stop him.

Instead, he looked straight at the elf that had spoken and said in the ancient language: "You will."

It grew very quiet after that statement and Islanzadí eventually stood, causing a flurry of activity as everyone hastened to do the same. "It is late, I am tired and I would return to my home. Accompany me, Riders and dragons, and I will show you where you may sleep tonight." She motioned with one hand to Arya and then left the table.

Arya followed.

Maine didn't worry about the dwarf, who would most likely be sleeping somewhere else, but instead followed the tall queen and her daughter. Eragon soon caught up to them and together, they reached the base of a tree. The trunk was ridged by a delicate staircase that spiraled up to a series of globular rooms that were suspended in the tree's crown by a group of branches. It looked really roomy.

"This is where the leader of the Dragon Riders would dwell while in Ellesméra. I want to give it to one of you, as only one dragon may fit in here. However, I do not know which one of you must-"

"Eragon can have it," Maine instantly replied. When the queen raised her eyebrows, he quickly added: "I dislike luxury."

Eragon argued, but Saphira was quick to accept his offer and the queen too looked satisfied.

"You must fly there, Saphira. Our stairs were not grown with dragons in mind. Spartan, I do not know what must happen with you now. Unfortunately, we only hold enough room for one rider."

"We'll make it work," he assured the woman.

"I cannot allow you to sleep in the open Spartan. It would shame us, as we are your hosts."

"I really do not care."

"However, we do have an old structure that once served as a barracks to our warriors. It is now abandoned, only to be used in emergencies. It should home you. Daenlith will accompany you there."

He saw that she wanted to leave and he quickly stepped forwards. "Ma'am, you appointed this elf as my…escort. Who is she? Why her?"

The queen threw one longing glance at Arya, who was respectfully waiting for at a reasonable distance. "Daenlith is a particular case. Her family disowned her more than thirty years ago and then, ten years after that, died during one of our darkest hours. She is Houseless and that is the greatest shame we can bear. Now you must excuse me Spartan, I have business to attend to."

After that curious explanation, the queen left again.

'_Houseless…I can indeed imagine the same,'_ Aeraleth said and a shudder seemed to run through her giant body. '_To be without family…I cannot imagine being declared unworthy by my family. Can you?'_

'_Easily,'_ he replied as his mind raced to process what Islanzadí had told him. '_I don't have family.'_

'_I am sorry.'_

'_Don't be.'_

'_Did your family die in the war?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_Is that why you fight?'_

He sighed and glared at the dragon. Did she really want to do this now? '_At first. But then I learned that revenge is meaningless. I fight because I am needed.'_

'_As good a reason as any,'_ Aeraleth declared. '_Now let us visit this structure of which the queen spoke.´_

He nodded, agreeing with her logic. He didn't know where the barracks where supposed to be, but neither did he need to wait very long. Daenlith approached them from the treeline and judging by the way her eyes shot back and forth between Arya, Islanzadí and Aeraleth.

Arya glanced at her and then focused her attention back to her mother while the two royal elves walked away from their position.

Aeraleth greeted the elf and Maine turned to face her.

"Mind showing us where the old barracks are?" He asked her in what he thought was a gentle tone.

She nodded briefly and led them to a collection of trees on the outskirts of Ellesméra, where a particularly large structure had been created. It didn't look like the barracks that the Marines used at all; it was flat, square-shaped and its entire structure just seemed off.

But it had two stories and it was large enough to accommodate at least three squads of fully-equipped soldiers, so he wouldn't complain. Not for himself at least; Aeraleth couldn't fit in there. It had probably not been designed with dragons in mind and the longer he looked at the entirety of the building, the more he came to realize that his partner would have to sleep somewhere else. And he didn't want to sleep away from her.

When he brought that problem to Aeraleth, she didn't seem to get the problem.

'_So I'll sleep outside. It matters not to me.'_

'_It matters to me. What if you trip another magical trap? What if an elf decided to attack you?'_

'_Maine,'_ she gently told him and prodded him with her snout, '_no creature here can hurt me. I am not as helpless as I was in the dwarf-den. If anything, I do not wish to leave you. I have more reason to worry about you than you about me.'_

"Where will Aeraleth sleep?" Maine asked, disregarding her statement that she would be fine on her own.

Daenlith frowned, looking away. "It concerns me that we did not prepare for the possibility of two dragons…" she seemed thoughtful for a second or two, but then she looked at the dragon and said: "I have a large courtyard behind my house. She can stay there…if she wishes to, that is."

'_That is acceptable,' _Aeraleth happily told the two of them.

'_You sound surprisingly content,' _he pointed out.

'_When the time for me to help you comes again, I shall not be alone.'_

He shook his head and thanked the elf.

Daenlith looked away. "There is no need to thank me," she quietly said. Her fists were clenched and she did not look very happy. "You must excuse me, Spartan."

As Maine and Aeraleth looked at each other on confusion, the elf turned around and walked away.

He felt surprised. What had just happened? '_What was that about?'_

'_I think,'_ the dragon replied, '_that there is more about her than the queen told us.'_

'_You mean her family having disowned and died on her?'_

'_Perhaps…she does not seem to like you very much though.'_

'_It seems to be the trend around me.'_

'_I long for the moment that we are again together, but you should go to sleep now. I shall join you tomorrow.'_

Maine nodded and, after a moment of hesitation, placed his right hand against Aeraleth´s nose. ´_Tomorrow, ´_ he told her, but he lost the rest of the words he wanted to speak to her.

They didn't need to be spoken though. ´_Tomorrow,'_ Aeraleth agreed. Then she turned around and strutted towards Daenlith's house, leaving the Spartan to mind his own business. Business that mainly involved moving the EFSU to the barracks, patrolling the perimeter one final time, realizing that he hadn't even set up a perimeter and then creating a perimeter. Luckily, Aeraleth kept in contact with him the entire time. The dragon and him talked about Arya and her heritage as a princess, about Islanzadí and her emotional responses to her problems and Däthedr and his outburst at the word 'stars'.

'_And,´_ she told him, ´_did you see how the elf glared at you during the feast? She looks like she absolutely loathes you.'_

'_Who, Islanzadí?'_

'_No, Daenlith. She acts like she wishes to help us, but her face speaks volumes.'_

He was impressed. '_You can read faces?'_

'_No. But…as the elves allow me in their heads, I can sometimes glean off some of their emotions and thoughts. She has hidden hers extraordinary well, but her emotions are harder for her to hide. She has nothing positive regarding you or Eragon.'_

'_She hates Eragon as well?'_

'_Less so than you, I think. She has been forced to work with you and she loathes it. She loathes you.'_

'_You sure you don´t want to sleep near me? I can rework the building, take out the walls and floors.'_

'_I will be fine.'_

A thought dawned upon him and he did not doubt himself for once. '_Is that why you insist on sleeping with her? Because you want to keep an eye on her?'_

Her amusement was unmistakable. '_Perhaps it is. But perhaps I enjoy the open night, as all other dragons have? After all, which dragon could bear to have a roof over their heads? It would be a shame.'_

He smiled briefly and then entered his barracks. Or at least, he tried to. He hadn't taken two steps up the steeps stairs that should have led him up the trees, when one of the steps shattered underneath his feet. He fell two meters and accidentally smashed another step with his elbow, bringing the total of ruined steps to two. The elves would probably not like that.

He uttered a curse under his breath and looked up. The barracks were at least twenty feet high in the trees and he couldn't climb them without breaking them. At least, he couldn't climb the stairs without breaking them. The branches…they should be reinforced enough to carry him, right?

The Spartan marched towards a new spot under the building and then, after a large jump, grabbed a hold of one of the branches.

Nope. It shattered under his grip and he fell down again. It had been a rather thin branch though, so if he could reach a thicker one…?

Looking around the trees, the Spartan identified a very large branch that should be able to support his weight. It hung just four meters above the ground, close to the thick trunk of the tree it belonged to.

He jumped at the tree, twisted his upper body around and then pushed himself up and away, reaching for the thick branch. He wrapped his arms around the wooden appendage and immediately swung his body upright.

The branch kept.

After that, Maine identified the area where it would be the easiest to infiltrate the barracks from below. A collection of large branches near the bottom of the building made it possible for him to stand right underneath the floor and seeing as the stairs didn't carry his weight, he needed to improvise.

"Brisingr," he muttered, using the elven word for fire. He didn't use real fire, as that would burn the building down. He focused the heat into his fingers, using those like a blowtorch to cut a square hole in the wooden floor. Magic enabled him to do many things, but it was the method he had in his mind that he used to alter reality. He didn't want to create a forest-fire with magic, but he wanted to create a focused spot of destruction.

A roughly square-shaped plate of wood clattered to the ground and the Spartan hauled himself inside the barracks. The first thing he noticed was that the building was divided into eight rooms: six cubic rooms that held simple beds and two rooms that held a hollow indent in the floor.

Maine carefully searched the various bedrooms and saw that they all had enormous windows without any glass in them. He thought it a stupid idea, as any storm in Ellesméra would fill the insides of the barracks with cold and rain. Why would the elves build something like that?

But upon closer examination, he came across a clever mechanic: there was a vertical ridge in the wall and when he carefully pulled at it, a yellow-orange membrane appeared from inside the wall. He could lift it to the other side of the wall and fastened it to a hook and just like that, the wind from the outside dissipated.

Clever.

He chose the room that was situated in the middle of the building and, after he had verified that he could create several phase-lines to fall back to should the barracks get infiltrated, installed most of his weapons near a bed. He only kept his sidearm and an SMG with him.

'_How is your courtyard?'_ he asked Aeraleth as he checked the beds for any hidden grooves, indents or hollows.

'_I like it. I can rest underneath the sky, with simple wooden structures around me. It is like the dwarf den in Tarnag…but you weren't there.'_

'_I was. It was walled.'_

'_This is comparable. How are your barracks?'_

He placed his hand against the wall and felt the intricate wooden figures that had been carved into the wood. '_It´s defendable and well-organized. I will manage.'_

'_Good.'_

'_Daenlith say anything_ _to you?'_

'_No. She went into her room and did not leave.´_

_´Alright, goodnight then.´_

_´Sleep well little soldier.´_

He kept his link with Aeraleth wide open as he carefully stepped into one of the wooden beds. They were covered with blankets and small pillows and he had to throw them all off before he actually wanted to lie down. He felt exhausted for some reason and because the bed did completely shatter underneath his weight, he decided that he might as well try to catch some sleep.

But his night was as restless as the ones before. He did not return to the misty village where the cries of the dammed reached out to ensnare him and neither did he dream of slimy, green tentacles growing from places where they shouldn't.

Instead, he dreamt of the sensation of the cold steel of a scalpel pressing down on his stomach, where just a tad more pressure would allow the blade to break the skin and sink into his flesh. But that didn't last long, as Aeraleth felt the disturbance in his mind and quickly took it upon her to take action. He and the dragon had an agreement that she would not actually interfere with his mind, but together they had found a way for her to still be able to help. Like a cold river her consciousness melded with his and with her thoughts as his guide, he managed to pull himself out of his nightmare.

And just when his mind had calmed down enough for him to enjoy the rest that sleep never seemed to bring, his body shot awake with a jolt and his hands instantly went for his SMG. It took him no longer than a second to figure out why he had woken up, as he heard the soft shuffling sound of fabric sliding against wood, followed closely by faint scratching noises.

Then, he heard a voice. `Spartan, you must wake yourself. You are required."

He jumped to his feet and marched towards the normal entry of the building, where Daenlith stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She carried a haunted expression and Maine could instantly see that she was restless.

"What?" He asked.

"I am to escort you to the queen and the princess, for they have something important to share with the riders."

"Right." He walked past the elf –she quickly stepped aside once he came close- and circumvented having to climb down the ruined stairs by simply jumping the twenty feet. Once he heard Daenlith doing similar, he asked: "What do they want now?"

She didn't answer.

~0~

"Something is going on that they haven't told us about. I'm not sure what they want from you, but it's important. Islanzadí's as tense as a cornered wolf…I thought I'd warn you beforehand."

"Thank you Orik. I would not have liked to meet them unprepared if they are like that."

The two of them descended by way of the stairs, while Saphira glided to the earth. They were met on the ground by Islanzadí, dressed in a mantle of ruffled swan feathers that appeared like a winter snow heaped upon a cardinal's breast.

The elf greeted them. "Follow me," she then quietly added and walked away without checking if they were really following them. Of course, Eragon dared not even think of disobeying the queen. Their wending course took the group to the edge of Ellesméra, where the buildings were scarce and the paths were faint from disuse. Spartan and Aeraleth were already waiting for them there; the dragon was resting on the ground and the rider was standing at rigid attention. Eragon knew that if he were to poke the Spartan, he would jump out of his armour. And then throttle Eragon to death.

At the base of the wooded knoll, Islanzadí stopped and said in a serious voice: "Before we go any farther, the five of you must swear to me, in the ancient language, that you will never speak to outsiders of what you are about to see. Not without permission from me, my daughter, or whoever may succeed us to the throne."

"Why should I gag myself?" Orik demanded.

'_Why indeed?'_ Saphira asked. '_Do you not trust us?'_

"It is not a matter of trust, but of safety. We must protect this knowledge at all costs –it is our greatest advantage over Galbatorix- and if you are bound by the ancient language, you will never willingly reveal our secret. You came to supervise Eragon's training, Orik-vodhr. Unless you will give me your word, you may as well return to Farthen Dûr."

"What if you possessed biological or chemical weapons?" Spartan asked, using strange words that would probably only make sense to the queen. "When my people arrive here, I cannot risk not telling them of such a major threat."

"A weapon against Galbatorix?" Eragon said, shuddering at the mere thought. "It sounds too dangerous to be kept a secret."

"Rest easy Spartan, Eragon, when I say that you need not worry. No harm shall come as a result of this secret, I promise so."

At last, Orik said: "I believe that you mean no harm to dwarves or to the Varden, lese I would never agree. And I hold you to the honor of your hall and clan that this isn't a ploy to deceive us. Tell me what I need to say."

While the queen tutored Orik in the correct pronunciation of the desire phrase, Eragon asked Saphira what to do.

'_Do we have a choice?' _The dragon replied.

With a shock, Eragon remembered that Arya had asked the same question yesterday and he was starting to believe that the queen would not leave anyone room to maneuver. But she had not met the Spartan properly if she thought that she could bind him to her will. And, Eragon thought, neither would she bind him.

Orik finished and Islanzadí looked expectantly at Eragon, but Spartan was not yet done.

"Honor and clans mean nothing. I will deliver the oath," he told the queen, "if you promise that this thing won't be a threat to us…or my people."

"If your people will not follow in Galbatorix' footsteps, I can assure you that I can make that oath too," Islanzadí replied, much to the surprise of Saphira.

'_It interests me that she would treat him like an equal, while she treats you and I like hatchlings,'_ she said with a great deal of frustration in her voice. '_And you heard his declaration last night? He believes himself to be above even the queen of the elves! He is a danger to everyone alive, and he has openly admitted that!'_

'_To be honest, I don't believe him. No man can kill thousands of enemies, for he would be more monster than man if he could. And there can't even be dozens of worlds out there. No, I do not believe him.'_

'_But the queen does.'_

'_Perhaps…perhaps he spoke of some poem that she recognized? Perhaps they speak in code-words?'_

'_Possible.'_

But to his great surprise, the queen kept her word. And as the Spartan too promised absolute secrecy, she turned to him.

He hesitated, and then delivered the oath together with Saphira. After all, if Aeraleth and her rider trusted this, he and Saphira would appear foolish if they didn't.

"Thank you," Islanzadí said. "Now we may proceed."

At the top of the hill, the trees were replaced by a bed of red clover that ran several yards to the edge of a stone cliff. The cliff extended a league in either direction and dropped a thousand feet to the forest below. It felt as if they stood on the edge of the world, staring across an endless expanse of forest. Eragon felt very small, but he also realized something. He realized that he knew that place, as he had seen it in his vision of Togira Ikonoka –the Mourning Sage. His would-be-teacher.

Then, the ground started to shake. It was as if something was causing many concussions in the distance, resulting in the air shivering from the power of the impact. The elves stood motionless and Arya, who had joined them too, refused to meet his eyes.

Eragon was starting to feel very nervous and the clovers bent under a sudden gust of wind. He looked at Spartan, but he was as motionless as the elves were. His dragon showed signs of concern though, but she too did not take her eyes off the cliff.

And then, from below the edge of the cliff, appeared a huge gold dragon with a Rider on its back.

Saphira slowly opened her jaws and did not close them again. Bright as a flaming sun, the dragon hung before Eragon and everyone clustered along the Crags of Tel´naeír, as the elves called it, buffeting them with gusts from its mighty wings. The dragon´s body appeared to be on fire as the brilliant dawn illuminated its golden scales and sprayed the ground and trees with dazzling chips of light. It was far larger than Saphira, too. Large enough to be several hundred years old –and it was proportionally thicker in its neck, limbs and tail. Upon its back sat the Rider, wearing startling white robes.

Eragon fell to his knees, staring at the Rider and his dragon. He was no longer alone with a Rider who was more demon than man…no longer would he have to share the burden…he felt so relieved! Here was one of the Riders of old, in all of his magnificence and glory! This…this hero…he would be Eragon's master; his teacher, he was sure of it.

As the dragon turned to land, it revealed a helpless white stump in place of a once mighty limp and Eragon gasped. The left foreleg had been severed by some terrible blow, crippling the dragon. It was so sad to see…such a magnificent creature, burdened by such a disfigurement.

A whirlwind of dry twigs and leaves enveloped the hilltop as the dragon settled on the red field, folding its wings and looking at them with enormous eyes.

The Rider carefully left his partner along the dragon's intact front leg, approaching Eragon and Spartan with his hands clasped before him. He was an elf with silver hair, old beyond measure, though his only sign of age was the expression of great compassion and sadness upon his face.

"Mourning Sage," Eragon said with a voice that trembled with happiness, "as you asked, I have come."

He remembered his manners and quickly touched his lips. "Atra esterni ono thelduin."

The Rider smiled and took Eragon by his shoulders, lifting him upright and staring at him with such kindness that Eragon could look at nothing else; he was nearly consumed by the endless depths within the elf's eyes.

"Oromis is my proper name, Eragon Shadeslayer."

"You knew?" Islanzadí whispered with a hurt expression that quickly transformed into a storm of rage. "You knew of Eragon's existence and yet you did not tell me? Why have you betrayed me, Shur'tugal?"

Oromis released Eragon from his gaze and transferred it onto the queen. "I kept my peace because it was uncertain if Eragon or Arya would live long enough to come here; I had no wish to give you a fragile hope that might have been torn away at any moment."

The queen's eyes narrowed. "You had no right to withhold such information from me! I could have sent warriors to protect Arya, Spartan and Eragon in Farthen Dür and to escort them safely here."

Oromis smiled sadly. "I hid nothing from you, Islanzadí, but what you had already chosen not to see. If you had scryed the land, as is your duty, you would have discerned the source of the chaos that has swept Alagaesia and learned the truth of the riders and your daughter. That you might forget the Varden and the dwarves in your grief is understandable, but Brom? Vinr Älfakyn? The last of the Elf Friends? You have been blind to the world, Islanzadí. Lax upon your throne. I could not risk driving you further away by subjecting you to another loss."

The queen's anger drained away, leaving her face pale and her shoulders slumped. "My age has deserted me…" she whispered. She looked over at Spartan and seemed to draw some strength from within herself, as she stood tall and added: "I would have sent lord Däthedr himself to lead warriors to the Varden, had I even had _reason _to believe that my daughter was still alive. It would have made their burden so much easier. "

"Ah," Oromis said as the golden dragon bent himself towards Eragon to greet him. "But the Spartan has escorted Arya and Eragon most courteously…have you not, young soldier?"

'_Greetings, Eragon Shadeslayer. I am Glaedr.'_

All Eragon could do was touch his lips and say: "I am honored."

Then Glaedr brought his attention to bear on Saphira and Aeraleth, both of whom remained perfectly still and stiff as the golden dragon sniffed their heads and the lines of their wings. Eragon saw Saphira's clenched leg muscles flutter with an involuntary tremor, though Aeraleth remained under control of herself.

"You know me?" the Spartan asked. _The _Spartan. Eragon still couldn't understand why a human being would name himself after numbers and items. It was sad that the Rider saw himself as nothing more than just a 'Spartan', whatever that meant.

"I do not know you personally, nor do I know Eragon personally. But I have felt whispers of your appearance all the way into the forest of Du Weldenvarden…and I would like to know all four of you better."

While Glaedr, Saphira and Aeraleth had their silent exchange, Orik presented himself to Oromis. "Truly, this is beyond anything that I dared hope or expect. You are a pleasant surprise in these dark times, Rider. But tell me: Why have you remained hidden for all these years? You were sorely needed, Argetlam."

"Ah," said Oromis. "Many sorrows exist in this world and one of the greatest is being unable to help those in pain. I could not risk leaving this sanctuary, for if I had died before one of Galbatorix' eggs had hatched, there would have been no one to pass on our secrets to the new Rider and it would have been even harder to defeat Galbatorix."

"That was your reason?" Orik spat. "Those are the words of a coward! The eggs might have never hatched. "

Everyone went as quiet as the Spartan was, except for a faint growl that emanated from between Glaedr's teeth."

"If you were not my guest here," Islanzadí said, "I would strike you down myself for that insult."

Eragon saw the Spartan looking at the queen and wondered what thoughts lay hidden behind that helmet. But before he could even process the threat that the elven queen had made to his dwarven friend, Oromis spread his hands and spoke.

"Nay, I am not offended. It is an apt reaction. Understand, Orik, that Glaedr and I cannot fight. Glaedr has his disability and I," he touched the side of his head, "I am also weakened. The Forsworn broke something within me when I was their captive and while I can still teach and learn, I can no longer control magic except for the smallest of spells. The power escapes me, no matter how much I struggle. I would be worse than useless in battle; I would be a weakness and a liability. So I removed myself from Galbatorix' influence for the good of many, even though I yearned to openly oppose him.

Eragon wondered what it would feel like to have to abandon those in need because of an inability to help. It would have to be terrible… "The Cripple Who is Whole," he murmured, using Oromis' self-acclaimed name.

"Forgive me," Orik said. He looked stricken and guilty.

"It is of no consequence," Oromis said and walked towards the Spartan. "Islanzadí Dröttning, by your leave?"

"Go," she said wearily. "Go and be done with you."

Glaedr crouched low to the ground and Oromis nimbly climbed up his leg and into the saddle on his back. "Come, Eragon and Spartan. We have much to talk about."

The gold dragon leaped off the cliff and circled overhead, rising on an updraft.

Eragon and Orik solemnly clasped arms and the dwarf said: "Bring honor to your clan."

Then, the dwarf took his place next to Arya and watched as both of the riders mounted their dragons. Eragon felt his heart leap when he watched the armoured warrior climbing onto his dragon and he felt the faint need to warn him not to ride without a saddle, but then it occurred to him that the soldier's armour wouldn't be damaged by the rough scales.

Aeraleth did appear burdened though. Every single time Spartan had said that he was too heavy for the dragon to carry him and now he was actually mounting her…and she was actually carrying him. She visibly strained to keep him on her, but her back did not arch and she did not collapse. Had Eragon not seen the soldier nearly sinking the boats back at the river he would have thought that he had lied about his weight.

But now? Now he felt happy for the dragon and her partner. The Spartan could now truly be named a Rider

He grinned at Arya, letting his happiness and joy at both Oromis and Spartan's first riding moment show. But the elf half frowned, looking deeply troubled by something. He was gone before he could make anything of her expression though, swept into the sky by the eagerness of Saphira's flight.

He could not even begin to imagine how Spartan must feel right now.

~0~

'_Ease up.'_

'_I cannot, this is too wonderful! Finally you and I are as we should be, in the sky!'_

'_You're not concentrating.'_

'_How can I concentrate when I have finally managed to carry my Rider? I feel glorious!'_

'_You barely smashed into the cliff.'_

'_Yes, well...is it my fault that your weight burdens me so?'_

'_One time? No. Three times?'_

'_I admit, I can barely steer now.'_

'_What if a dragon attacks us now?'_

'_I…I know not. But Glaedr can help me, can he not? I can train and grow and…and…you can…prepare accordingly.'_

'_I won't take my armour off, if that's what you are saying.'_

'_Maine, I can barely fly straight!'_

The Spartan was well aware of the dragon's burden. He had opened his mind to the burning in her muscles and the aching in her back, so that she would not have to go through that alone. She was a very powerful creature; she could have carried brutes in both of her arms and still have enough strength to take the skies with ease. But his weight was concentrated on one spot on her back and that seemed to burden her more than any place on her body ever could. By now, Aeraleth was more than then times as long as he was thirty feet tall. She was about as large as Saphira, but she looked wildly different. Her fingers were long and ridged and that wasn't considering her talons, which were hooked like an eagle's and as broad as his head. She had an impressive array of dark spikes that grew out of her scaled head and the thick, scaly bones between two particularly large horns gave her an armoured appearance. Her dark, leathery wings that had once looked like a bat's now looked as menacing as the rest of her body.

He was very content with her appearance.

Following the two dragons, they traveled across the white cliff northward for several miles. Maine continued to take Aeraleth's aching from her body, making it easier for her to carry the fully-armoured Spartan on her back. Her pain, as strange as it was, was nothing to him. He could bear pain so much easier than she ever could –and she was no pushover. She never asked for him to help her and when he had initially started going that, she had been deeply insulted.

He had quickly pointed out that being insulted was better than being dead at the bottom of the cliff and she had taken his point. But her insulted feelings hadn't lasted very long, as she was deeply satisfied with Glaedr's appearance. Her emotions were so wild –so raw and unpredictable- that he simply couldn't understand them. So he ignored them and let Aeraleth be happy.

~0~

Eventually, they landed in another clearing situated on the edge of the cliff. A bare path led from the rock face to the doorstep of a low hut grown between the trunks of four trees, one of which straddled a stream that emerged from the moody depths of the forest. Glaedr was as big as a Scarab tank was and the hut could have easily sat between his ribs.

"Welcome to my home," Said Oromis as he walked across the ground with uncommon ease rivalled only by the Spartan. "I live here because it provides me the opportunity to think and study in peace. My mind works better away from Ellesméra and the distractions of other people."

He disappeared inside the hut, then returned with two stools and flagons of clear, cold water for all three of them. Eragon sipped his drink and admired the spacious view of Du Weldenvarden in an attempt to conceal his awe and nervousness, waiting for the elf to speak first. For some reason, he had never truly accepted the Spartan as a Rider.

Beside him, Saphira crouched with her eyes fixed on Glaedr, slowly kneading the dirt between her claws. The gap in their conversation stretched longer and longer, to the point where easily an hour had passed. Spartan was standing all this time, alternating between looking at Glaedr, Oromis and the cliffs. Aeraleth was almost as nervous as Saphira was and the large, golden dragon was simply staring into the distance. Eragon did not mind the lapse of time at first, but he was slowly becoming frustrated with the lack of conversation. One hour became two and then, finally, Oromis spoke.

"I see you have already learned the value of patience. Good."

The truth was that Eragon hadn't wanted to break the silence before Spartan did –he refused to think of the Rider as _the _Spartan, as he was still human underneath all that armour.

"Now then…I know that the name 'Spartan' is not your true name, if you have been honest with the people around you-"

Eragon wondered just how Oromis knew about that.

"-and I would like to know your actual name. I do not wish to call Eragon 'villager' or 'rebel' any more than I wish to call to call you 'Spartan' or 'soldier'."

'_I wonder how this will play out,'_ Saphira managed to tear her attention from Glaedr away long enough for her to make a remark.

'_So do I.'_

"No," Spartan replied calmly. "Spartan will suffice"

"Will it?" The elf said, raising an eyebrow. "Did you decide that?"

The Spartan slowly nodded and much to Eragon's surprise, Oromis simply sighed and let it slide.

"Very well. Nothing can be forced without time. Eragon? Let me see your hands. I find that they tell me much about a person."

Eragon removed his gloves and allowed the elf to grip his wrists with thin, dry fingers. He examined Eragon's fingers, hands and palm, then said: "Correct me if I am wrong. You have wielded a scythe and plow more often than a sword, though you are accustomed to a bow."

"Aye."

"And you have done little writing or drawing, maybe none at all?"

"Brom taught me my letters in Teirm."

"Mmm. Beyond your choice of tools, it seems that you have only wielded the blade for a few months. Zar'roc, I suppose."

Eragon was impressed. "What makes you think that, Oromis-elda?" He asked, using the highest suffix he could think of."

"Not elda," Oromis corrected him. "You may call me master in this tongue."

"No," Spartan said with surprising tenacity. Aeraleth snorted and a large cloud of smoke exited her nostrils.

"What?" Oromis asked.

"I refuse to call anyone master."

"We are your teachers, you are our students and you will act with the proper respect and deference. That goes for you too, Spartan, if you wish to learn the ways of the Riders."

Spartan straightened his back and Eragon quickly took a step back, knowing what was going to happen.

"I don't," the tall Rider snapped. "I don't need tutoring like a child."

Oromis sighed and gently set his glass of water aside. Glaedr was staring at the Spartan with such intensity that Eragon, who was staring in silent horror at the unfolding scene, felt like he would have long submitted under the glare. Oromis spoke gently, but with the authority of one who expects absolute obedience. And Spartan did not seem to be willing to show that obedience.

"You do not require tutoring like a child? What do you suppose you are doing here then? Why are you not out fighting the empire if you have decided that you need not pay heed to the experience of your elders?"

Spartan then proceeded to blow Eragon´s mind. "I would be, but Aeraleth requires training. _That _is why I am here. I don't need training. I don't need practice."

The elf looked at the Spartan with an odd expression. "Can you repeat that in the Ancient Language?"

"Why?"

"Because I asked you to. Is that too much?"

The Spartan repeated the exact same words in the Ancient Language and this time, Oromis looked at him with a strange form of pity on his face. "Did you know that the eggs that the wild dragons gave to be linked to riders, years and years ago, were enchanted in a peculiar way? As our peace and pact with the dragons had enabled us to be impervious to time, elves from all age categories could be selected for the dragons. Choosing children was just a custom. Humans however, were not immortal. And perhaps because of that, only those within a certain age-category could be chosen. Do you know what this means?"

Eragon didn't dare breathe, lest he chase away this opportunity to learn more about the other Rider.

"No."

The elf nodded gravely. "For humans, this generally meant the chosen ones would be ranging from twelve to twenty-one years old. This is how I know that you are but a child when compared to us…and this is how I know that you require training."

"The queen said something similar."

"Did you now? And how did you respond to that?"

"It told her that, concerning warfare, I had more experience than her."

Oromis' eyes widened. "You did what?"

"The only form of training I could need," the soldier then said, "is magical usage and words. That is all."

Their elven teacher remained silent for several minutes, during which Eragon tried to make sense of what had just happened. It was the same with Islanzadí; for all Spartan's rudeness and strange claims, they all took him seriously. Even though Eragon knew that the Rider was not delusional, there had to be something wrong. Something was off. Spartan could not be much older than twenty years old…and yet he seemed to hold enough experience to treat the elven queen and the last free Rider besides themselves like equals…both of these elves were hundreds of years old.

'_Saphira, what is Spartan? What is he, if not a demon?'_

'_I am not sure, little one. I only know that I wish for you to be as far away from him as possible.'_

"Eragon," Oromis then broke the silence without taking his eyes off of Spartan. "Why are you here, Eragon?"

"To complete my training," he hastened to reply.

"And what do you think that process entails?"

Eragon shifted uncomfortably. Why had Oromis changed the topic so suddenly? "Learning more about magic and…and fighting. Brom wasn't able to finish teaching me the things he knew."

"And you, Spartan? Why are you here?"

"Like I said. For me, magic. For Aeraleth…the things she needs to know to survive this war."

"And what does this mean to you?"

"Books…rules…practice."

"Magic," Oromis then slowly said, "swordsmanship and other such skills are useless unless you know how and when to apply them. This I will teach you…however, Spartan, Galbatorix has demonstrated that power without moral direction is the most dangerous force in the world."

"It is."

"I am glad you understand this, for I have reason to worry about your moral direction. You are here and that is important. My main task is then to help you both, to understand what principles guide you. You must not make the right choices for the wrong reasons."

"It's all the same, sir."

"But you are wrong. And not sir…" Oromis then softly disagreed. "In the Ancient Language, you may call me ebrithil, if you wish to."

"Ebrithil, sir."

"Not sir, ebrithil."

"Yes."

"Yes ebrithil."

"You don't need to call me ebrithil, sir."

Oromis sighed. "The suffix 'ebrithil' can be attached to a name. Like Glaedr-ebrithil. Anyway, you disagree? You do not think you need principles?"

"No…I know why I make my choices."

"You do? What principles guide you then, Spartan?"

"I fight for mankind."

"Yes, but under what principles?" Oromis asked.

The Spartan didn't seem to understand. "I fight for mankind. That is my belief."

"But why? What are your _principles _on that subject?"

"My duty. I fight to protect and serve humanity against all threats, whatever the cost."

"That sounds rather radical. _Why _do you fight? What makes you choose what the cost is? What are your morals?"

"I fight because it is my duty. I live to serve, _whatever _the cost."

"Pardon me?" Oromis then asked, blinking. "I do not think that is right. You…exist…because of your duty?"

Spartan sounded glad that the elf finally understood him. "Yes."

"That…that is…" Eragon didn't have any words for that. Life was so much more than that! Life was having fun…doing the things you wanted to, being with the people you loved and…loving the people you were with. Life couldn't be as meaningless as a life of servitude, that would be slavery! Slavers thought that their slaves existed to work and…that was it! Not even the most dedicated soldier thought that his life meant fighting and nothing else! It was insane, it…it was perverse!

"You honestly believe that?" Oromis asked in a very quiet voice, his expression tender and pitying. "Is that your true reason to fight? Because you believe it to be your duty?"

"Yes."

The elf averted his eyes and a couple of tears clung to his face. The trio of dragons was extremely quiet and Eragon could only stare in horror at what he had thought to be a human.

"Where-" Oromis began to ask, but he didn't get much farther as he suddenly stiffened. The flagon slipped from his fingers and just as Eragon flinched at the instantaneous and frightening change, the Spartan shot forwards. He caught the delicate flagon in one hand and reached for the delicate elf with the other. His face went crimson and his thin fingers tightened into hooked claws that dragged at his robe in some rabid desperation. The large rider gently pried the elf's fingers away and just as Eragon tried to get to his feet, Oromis had relaxed again, although his entire body now looked extremely weary.

"Are you well?" Eragon asked him, feeling concerned with the kind and gentle Rider.

A trail of amusement lifted the corner of Oromis' mouth. "Not only mankind, it seems, Spartan? No, I am less than I might wish. We elves fancy ourselves immortal, but not even we can escape certain maladies of the flesh, which are beyond our knowledge of magic. No, do not worry…it isn't contagious, but neither can I rid myself of it. I have spent years binding myself with hundreds of small, weak spells that, layered upon another, duplicate the effect of enchantments that are now beyond my reach. I bound myself with them so that I might live long enough to witness the birth of the last dragons and to foster the Riders' resurrection from the ruins of our mistakes."

"How long until…"

Oromis lifted a sharp eyebrow. "How long until I die? We have time, but precious little for you and me. As a result, we win begin your instruction immediately, for I must condense decades of knowledge into months…weeks, even. "

"You do know," Eragon said, struggling against the embarrassment and shame that made his cheeks burn, "about my own…my own infirmity…? I am crippled."

"A scar is a scar," Maine said without remorse as he turned to face the cliffs again. "It doesn't make you a cripple."

"The Spartan is right. You are only a cripple if you consider yourself one…but I understand how you feel. And while we will do everything we can to change that, I must ask you to remain optimistic. Had you been alone, you would have had to carry the burden all by yourself. But there are two of you…and the two of you will reach magnificent things if you can work together."

Eragon didn't want to whine about his own problems when the Spartan always seemed to survive whatever the world threw at him without a single complaint. He would not do worse than him. "I will work harder than ever before," he declared proudly.

Oromis ordered Eragon to remove his tunic and while he did, Saphira asked whether the elf knew Brom. Their master then explained that Brom had been his pupil in the past…just like Morzan had been. Morzan…the father of Murtagh and the leader of the Forsworn, first of Galbatorix' wretched followers.

Then, Oromis inspected Eragon's scar while at the same time asking Spartan various questions about his armour, history and philosophy, of all things.

The Spartan really ever gave a full reply and when Oromis asked him why he had thought himself to be more experienced than Islanzadí, the Spartan had stated that he had been part of 'one of the bloodiest wars in history of mankind', where he had fought for the very survival of his entire race.

And he could not help but feel guilty at the soldier's words. The Varden were fighting for freedom and justice…reasons that had seemed acceptable to Eragon in the past, but that would now sound empty and hollow in his ears. Even though the Spartan spoke only a few words throughout the hours that they spent there, he felt increasingly depressed.

Eventually, when Oromis and Glaedr had tested Eragon, Saphira and Aeraleth in flexibility and bodily skills, the golden dragon asked the black one just how old she was, as her mind had felt weird.

'_A month…perhaps a few days more, but not much.'_

'_A month!'_ Glaedr exclaimed and Oromis too uttered a surprised oath. '_Impossible. No hatchling grows as quickly; you have got to be wrong about that.'_

But the dragon had been much smaller than Saphira had been back with the Varden. She seemed to grow at a disproportionate rate…and it was really strange.

'_I am not wrong, Glaedr-_ _ebrithil._'

'_This is unheard of. Are you well, young one? Do you feel different, sick or strange?'_

'_I am constantly hungry, but that is to be expected.'_

´_Unbelievable…´_ Glaedr muttered. ´_Is this your doing, Spartan?'_

"No. Don't be stupid." Spartan bluntly replied, electing a loud growl from the golden dragon.

'_Do not speak to us like that, hatchling! We are still your masters, your superiors-'_

"Nobody here is my superior!" the Spartan then snapped at Glaedr with such ferocity that the dragon actually took a thundering step back. "Not the queen and not _you."_

Glaedr's anger loomed over their minds like threatening clouds, but Oromis was quick to alter the subject and change their emotions with but a single remark.

"Perhaps it would be wise to continue this conversation somewhere else…and private. Glaedr, will you take Eragon and Saphira to the grove behind my house?"

Glaedr agreed and then turned his vast consciousness to Eragon. '_Follow me, younglings.'_

Eragon threw one worried glance at the Spartan and remembered how even the queen had seemed nervous by his presence. But Oromis was powerful enough to defend himself and even if the Spartan would attack, Aeraleth would stop him.

'_Come on Saphira,'_ he told his own partner. '_Let's go.'_

~0~

Maine watched Saphira and Eragon leave and the familiar sense of frustration arose in the back of his mind. His amount of self-control was deteriorating faster than he could have ever imagined and he hated that so much. He knew that he should not have snapped against the two like that, but his situation was far from ideal.

After all, he had been educated for more than a collective eight years. He had sufficient knowledge to do what he needed to do and that was enough for him. He didn't need Oromis to teach him the things he had speaking about with Eragon, like botany and history and culture. Those things were completely and utterly irrelevant to him.

'_Maine! I think you need to start thinking about what you say.'_ Aeraleth told him.

'_I hate this,'_ he replied softly as Oromis took a sip from his flagons and looked up at the sky. '_I have fought for so long…I don't need someone tutoring me.'_

'_If you did not require help, you would not be here. You and I both know that you are full of faults.'_

"So," Oromis declared after a few minutes of silence.

Maine didn't know how to reply, so he simply kept quiet.

"Where lies the source of your troubles, young soldier? Why are so vehemently against the idea of having to confide into us as your teachers?

"I've had teachers in the past."

"Did they do you injustice?"

"No. But the things they taught me…are the only things I should know. The only things I need to know."

"For your sole purpose in life…which is to fight?"

"Yes."

"And what happens when your fight is over? What will you do then?"

Maine took a deep breathe. This was what he had been worrying about himself; what would he do once the UNSC had no use for him? If he returned with his people –because they would come- there wouldn't be anything waiting for him but an ever-decreasing amount of operations and missions that would be nowhere near as important as his old ones. He had to face it; as much as Parangosky feared it, the Covenant would not rise again. The Elites were humanity's allies, the UNSC had control over the Ark and soon their technology would match that of the Covenant at the apex of its might.

The Marines and ODST's would be accepted back in society if they wanted to…the SPARTAN-II's were heroes and the veterans that could not function again would be treated and cared for with the proper respect and reference, as they had helped mankind out of the darkness. But Spartans like him? The mission to retrieve Math-011 had probably been their last real one. He had no future.

But he still had things to do here; he had to investigate the Forerunner presence, find out what the elves knew and then figure out just why all the Secret-Spartans had been scattered like that.

"My fight is never over," he decided. "My people were brought here for a reason."

"Brought?" Oromis asked.

"Yes. Our ship was…" he hesitated, "…teleported here by an ancient and extinct race. We were investigating a missing soldier on an unknown world. Then, this race's machines appeared and forced us away. The ship ended up here."

"Where are the rest of your people then?"

"Most are still onboard. The soldiers that accompanied me to Alagaesia died."

"Died?" Oromis asked. "How is that possible? You told me that you didn´t need training."

The elf must have thought that the soldiers had been Spartans too. "I am a Spartan. Humanity's best. The soldiers that accompanied me were normal humans. It's most likely they died when our dropship crashed."

"I have heard about your statement…of you having come from the stars. I dared not believe that Alagaesia would ever be visited by people from other worlds, let alone that they would have been human. But there is a problem."

"Yes," Maine agreed.

"If your people are human enough to be included in our Pact with the dragons…there must be some connection between this world and yours. So what is this connection? Which humans were first?"

"My people were first. Mankind had colonized hundreds of world before the war started."

Oromis looked at him. "And you believe that this…race…of which you speak...they were responsible for bringing you here?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps they knew of our trouble and chose to bring us a warrior. It reminds me of something Gilderien the Wise once spoke about…no, something else concerns me now. I cannot seem to remember what it was…" The elf seemed to concentrate for a moment, a light frown on his face, when his face suddenly eased up. "My memories fail me. Spartan, you claim to be humanity's finest. I have seen many fine warriors of human origins in my years, so forgive me if I can not picture this easily."

He didn't reply.

"However, your armour radiates a feeling of power unlike I have ever seen. Do you mind if I…?"

After a brief moment of hesitation, Maine nodded. Oromis slowly and cautiously reached out and brushed with his long fingers against his chestplate. Just a centimeter from the armour's surface, however, the hand was pushed away by the Energy Shielding.

Oromis inhaled sharply and gently increased his pressure, but of course that didn't do anything. "Fascinating…"

Maine was starting to feel somewhat awkward now.

"Humanity's finest…" Oromis then whispered and stepped back, turning away from the Spartan. "I would have liked to meet one of your people, Spartan. From the stars…it is a shame that you do not wish to tell me more. But all in due time. Aeraleth?"

'_Yes, ebrithil?'_

"Speak on the ancient language with your answer. Do you think your rider capable of learning new information, be it combat-related or not?"

'_Though limited by time and the nature of the information, he can.'_

"Do you think he will?"

'_I absolutely know,'_ she said, '_that he will not spent his time learning things he deems unimportant.'_

"Do you support him in this?"

'_Not really. I fully understand that you and Glaedr-ebrithil are more experienced in life than we are and to learn the ways of my ancestors, I will learn whatever it is that you need me to learn. And I know my Rider will help me when I need his help. But I cannot force him to learn what he does not want to, and neither will I attempt to.'_

"I see," Oromis said and much to the Spartan's surprise, a faint smile was visible on his face. "And why is that?"

'_Excuse me?'_

"When I posed this question to the Riders of old, young in their life, none of them could tell me why they did what they did, or why they felt like they felt. Why do you not try to persuade your Rider to follow our ways, if you are content to follow them?"

This was a trick-question. Maine knew it and Aeraleth knew it.

'_Because…we are at war. And if there is one thing my Rider can deal with, it is war.´_

"Ah, but is war all that his life has to offer?" Oromis was quick to point out.

"Yes," Maine replied at once.

'_That I do not know ebrithil. But I do know that his judgment has saved my life before. But life is not war…and that is why I will fully commit myself to the training that is to come.'_

"You two differ much, but that is good. Very good. Spartan, I will not allow my students to act the way you have been acting ever since you have landed in this world. You will follow my ways. However, I am willing to compensate. You will accept the way I teach and in return, I will accept the way you think. "

"You will?" Aeraleth prodded him with her mind and he grudgingly added, "Ebrithil."

Oromis raised a slant eyebrow. "Yes. If you are indeed as mighty a warrior as you are –and you will have to prove this soon- you should be capable of learning many things. I will not say that you have a correct view of life, but at least you have one. Eragon has none. I do not know where your knowledge lies, but if your people were this advanced…you will have no need for many of the things I wished to teach you either way. Eragon needs an education more than you do."

He nodded, but then he remembered something he had not fully understood before; something he wanted clarified. "Ebrithil? What do you know of Daenlith?"

"Daenlith?" Oromis asked with mild surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"Islanzadí-"

'_Respect, Maine.'_

"Islanzadí-Dröttning, Spartan."

"-the queen doesn't trust me. She has appointed Daenlith to be my…?"

'_Escort,'_ Aeraleth quickly helped him.

"…escort. Why?"

"You do not understand why the queen doesn't trust you?"

"No, she's smart not to. But why her? Who is Daenlith?"

"It is not my story to tell, but you lest you irreversibly damage something, you need to know some parts of it. Her family had a particularly exotic view on the politics of the world and as such, they did not care for their only daughter's wishes to meddle in the affairs of outsiders."

"So they disowned her," He added.

"Yes. Thirty years ago, they disowned her and banished her from their Hall; their House. Twenty years ago, a tragedy befell Du Weldenvarden. Morzan, last of the forsworn, took a large group of Lethrblaka to Du Weldenvarden. Daenlith's Hall was not in Ellesméra, you see. It was positioned closer to the edge, where our influence and magic was less powerful. Before our warriors could stop them, they burned a large section of our forest to the ground. A dozen of the Lethrblaka were slain that day, but Morzan escaped unharmed. Your protégé's family did not."

'_Does that explain why she hates my Rider so much?'_ Aeraleth asked.

"Yes," Oromis nodded, looking grave. "She, like many others, blames the Riders of old for their incompetence. And the appearance of not one, but two human riders in our forest is an affront to her. That Islanzadí would pick her to keep an eye on you is…unsettling."

The aged elf seemed thoughtful. "Glaedr is educating Eragon and Saphira in some of our more…intricate manners. Remember our pact, Spartan. Tomorrow, Glaedr will educate Aeraleth and Saphira, while I shall educate you and Eragon. There I will test your skills and determine how to proceed next. For now…you two may leave."

'_Thank you ebrithil,'_ Aeraleth quickly told Oromis. '_For wishing to teach us and…for being kind with my Rider.'_

Oromis nodded and then waved them away. Maine looked at Aeraleth and the dragon sighed again.

'_I now understand why you did not wish to ride me,'_ she told him while he mounted her again. '_You are almost unbearably heavy.'_

'_Just a week,'_ he assured her. '_In another week, you will be able to carry me without trouble.'_

'_He says, like he has become a dragon expert.'_

'_Fine. It's midday now; what do you wish to do?' _They had spent hours in Oromis' presence and he was longing for action. But, more importantly, he was longing for information. Information on the Forerunner presence of which Oromis had not known.

'_I wish to remain with Glaedr and have him teach me, but as Oromis sent us away due to your actions, that is not likely to happen. Instead I wish to see Ellesméra.'_

'_Sure. But there is something I want to see first.'_

'_This Forerunner-thing you have been talking about? I do not get why this is so important to you.'_

'_You don't?'_

'_No. You came here; it is likely others could get here too. Perhaps you are unable to stand the thought of the elves knowing more than you?'_

Was that the dragon equivalent of a low blow? '_What?'_

'_You always act so arrogantly whenever you arrive somewhere. You threatened Ajihad. You threatened the Council of Elders –fools as they were- and you almost threatened Nasuada. You took a Shade of all beings under your wing and then paraded with her through Tronjheim!'_

'_I did not parade.'_

Aeraleth was starting to sound extremely agitated and the beating of her wings grew wilder. _'This was just how you introduced yourself in the world. Arya, Islanzadí, both of them wise woman and both of them more experienced than those you already look down upon, you never showed them even one bit of respect.'_

'_I don´t understand-'_

'_Again? Allow me to simplify it then: we just met the only two beings on this world who can teach us and not only did you show them zero respect, you also openly ridiculed and insulted them!'_

A cold pit fell in Maine's stomach and in the back of his mind, he was starting to feel a bit anxious. Aeraleth had never sounded so angry with him before –had her attitude with Oromis been an act to prevent him from finding out how she felt until they were alone?

'_Aeraleth, I don't need people to teach me. I have more important things to-'_

'_You ALWAYS have more important things to do! Has it ever occurred to you that you are NOT the most important being here? This isn't your world, Maine, and not everything is connected to you or your people!'_

'_Don't be a fool, Aeraleth. You saw that structure with your own eyes!'_

'_Did I? I saw a building that could have been a temple. It could have been an outpost –it could have been anything. Your mind makes it important.'_

'_Are you calling me a liar?'_

'_No. I am calling you arrogant and paranoid.'_

They had reached the red clovers where they had initially met the two teachers. Aeraleth touched down and Maine jumped off, perhaps more rougher than the first time.

_´That was unnecessary,´_ the dragon indignantly said and shook herself. The Spartan´s departure had caused her discomfort, but he didn't really care about that.

´_I don't care what you think,´ _he told her, '_I'm going to find out what the elves know.'_

'_Foolishness. You would only end up insulting them.'_

'_Whatever.' _He left the dragon on the cliffs and marched off at a pace that lay twice as high as high normal walking pace. There had been some truth in her words and that was even more frustrating than if she had spoken total nonsense. He knew that he was seeing things everywhere, but that wasn't his fault. The _When Duty Ends _had been transported to Alagaesia for a reason and if Aeraleth was too blind to see that, she was…was…too blind to see that.


	16. Slow developments

"_The first generation of Spartans was a failure. The second generation of Spartans is nearly died out, with only a small group of individuals remaining. The third generation is a small group of children that was originally mass-produced for suicide missions. The Secret-Spartans were supposed to be our personal agents, sharing the augmentations given to the II's and reserved for the IV's, but they all disappeared during their last mission. So now, with barely any Spartans remaining, the IV's are it."_

_\- Admiral Parangosky, one week after the Scattering event, pt. _

* * *

Jörmundur seemed to have something important on his mind, as he was walking at a pace that seemed faster than that of ordinary humans. His mind was in turmoil and his eyes were serious. Whatever it was that made him so distressed, it caused him to miss the robed and hooded woman standing near Nasuada's office. Without even looking at her, he barged into the office of the Varden's leader.

The veteran removed his helm, tucked it in the crook of his right arm and walked towards the girl.

"My lady."

Nasuada greeted him and, as Raia slowly walked to the door-opening, quickly flashed a glance at her direction. "What brings you here?"

Jörmundur seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before he answered. "Magic, of the strangest kind."

Ooh…interesting. Humans always seemed to lose their minds when faced with things they didn't understand. 'Magic!' they would mumble with frowned faces and angry voices, like that was the explanation for everything. It was the grumpy version of 'Because of my religion!'

"Oh?"

"Do you remember the baby that Eragon blessed?"

"Aye."

The child that Eragon had blessed? What about it?

"I have been asked to take you to her."

"Asked? By whom? And why?"

"A boy on the practice field told me that you should visit the child. Said that you would find it interesting. He refused to give me his name, but he looked like what that witch's werecat is supposed to turn into, so I thought…well, that you should know."

Ah yes, the werecat. The transforming creature that could change from cat into human boy at his own leisurely pace. He always chose to remain with Angela. If that thing had decided to show its face, things had to be very serious indeed.

"I asked my men questions about the girl," Jörmundur continued, "and I heard strange things…that she's different."

Wow. Different. How accurate.

"In what way?"

The human shrugged. "Enough to believe that you should do what the werecat says."

Humans had been brought up with the knowledge that ignoring a werecat was the height of stupidity and that it often led to one's doom. However, Angela was a bit strange. She was a magic user and, well…'magic!' didn't seem to cover Nasuada's problems with her.

"Very well, let us go visit this child. Is she within the castle?"

"Orrin gave her and her caretaker rooms on the west side of the keep."

"Take me to her."

As Nasuada ordered her maid, Farica, to postpone the rest of that day's appointments, the bulky human finally noticed that someone was standing in the door-opening.

"The lady is busy," he barked at her. "Don't stand there eavesdropping on us, do something useful!"

Raia raised an eyebrow. "If you know what's best for you, _human_, you will not talk to me." Then she remembered that she was supposed to help the Varden and quickly added: "Not like that."

Before Jörmundur could do anything else than stare at her in confusion, Nasuada interfered. "Jörmundur, drop it. She is one of my guards –and an important one at that."

"I …but…human…yes, my lady." His poor brain couldn't handle the situation, it seemed.

Nasuada then gestured for two other guards to take up positions around her and, with both Raia and Jörmundur at her side. It was foolish to travel through the castle with human warriors when one had a Shade to guard you, but she couldn't let anyone know that. And if Nasuada wanted to discourage possible assassins from attacking her, she needed to appear like she was guarded.

They had to take three breaks before they had reached their destination, as the heat made it hard for the warriors to keep moving. It made Raia wonder how Spartan dealt with his suit; whether it had something that could cool him down if he needed that. Lots of things made her wonder about her...yes, friend. She saw him as a friend. The first true person she could trust could be called a friend, right?

The group reached a door and Jörmundur knocked on it, causing a trembling voice inside to ask: "Who is it?"

"Lady Nasuada, come to see the child," he replied/

"Be you of true heart and steadfast resolve?"

Raia wished to answer that her heart was like shadows and her resolve like poison, lingering and unresolvable, but she held her tongue. It was _such _a cliché way to ask someone if they were nice or bad.

"My heart is pure and my resolve as iron," Nasuada replied without batting an eye. It wasn't the first time that the Shade thought that Nasuada had to deal with idiocy like this at a daily basis.

"Cross the threshold then and be welcome."

The door swung open to an entryway lit by a single dwarven lantern. They proceeded inwards and Raia saw that the walls and ceiling were covered with layers dark fabric, making the place appear like a cave or a lair. But the air was cold, so what the hell.

Nasuada brushed a dark mesh curtain aside and, when the Shade followed her, she too found herself in what had once been a sitting room. The furniture had been removed, a cluster of dwarf lanterns was hanging from the ceiling and an old lady was watching them from the depths of one corner. Angela the witch was there too, next to the werecat known as solembum –or, as Raia liked to call him in her mind, serious ass- and a little girl was sitting in the center of the room, roughly three to four years old. She had white hair that hung to her shoulders and a petite form, as all human children had.

Raia knew immediately that the young girl was the blessed baby, but she couldn't yet fathom how that was possible.

Nasuada was not as smart. "Where is the baby?"

The girl looked up and flashed a pair of deep, violet eyes. The dragon mark –inflected upon her by Saphira- stood brightly upon her forehead. Then, she smiled with a smile that was too loaded with intent to be fit with one her age. "I am Elva."

Nasuada recoiled and Raia couldn't help but agree with that. The pitch of the voice fitted perfectly with a girl her age, but the tone did not. It was filled with emotions that a child should not have; human children were like animals in their young years. Filled with basic needs, emotions and thoughts. Something was terribly wrong here.

"That's new," the Shade muttered, but nobody paid her any mind.

"Don't run," Elva said quickly, "I am your friend. Even the Shade's."

How did she-?

"Please sit. I have been waiting for you ever since I learned to talk."

Nasuada lowered herself to the stones. "When was that?"

"Last week." Elva folded her hands in her lap, fixing her ghastly eyes on Nasuada. Raia felt like the gaze was a bit too strong to belong to such a frail body.

Leaning forward, Elva reached out and grabbed Nasuada's hand. "You know, Ajihad could not have led the Varden better than you have. You chose the correct path, even when all others thought you were insane to do so."

Alright, that was impressive. Raia knew for one that Nasuada had been struggling with doubts ever since she had been called upon to replace the crippled Ajihad.

Tears ran down the Varden' leader's face as she stared at that horribly knowing child even as the Shade's mind raced to figure out what had just happened. Elva had called out Nasuada's most deepest and personal thoughts and used those to reassure her. She was…something else.

"What _are _you?" Nasuada demanded.

"I am what Eragon made me."

"He blessed you."

Those creepy eyes were obscured for a moment as Elva blinked, slowly and deliberately. "He did not understand his actions. Since Eragon bewitched me, whenever I see a person, I sense all the hurts that beset him. I can feel what pains them, what pleasures them and what will break them. When I was smaller, I could do nothing about it. So I matured."

"Why would-"

"The magic in my blood drives me to protect people from pain, as I can sometimes sense what _will _hurt a person in the coming minute. Always the coming minute…whether I want to help or nor." Her smile acquired a bitter twist. "It costs me dearly if I resist the urge."

That explained a lot; it explained why Elva had grown so quickly, it explained why she looked so mature for her age and it explained how she had known about Nasuada. What it did not explain was why something like that would happen. What had Eragon used during his blessing? Ten human sacrifices?

It wouldn't be very nice to be Elva. Feeling what each and every single person suffered from all the time…all due to a blessing that had gone wrong.

A sense of alert shot through Raia and she thought of Spartan. Elva shouldn't get within a mile's distance of the Rider, as his mere presence would drive her insane.

"So…where does this leave us now? Why did you want to see me?" Nasuada asked in a quiet voice.

"I thought you should know what my presence meant," Elva said and paused briefly, looking determined. "And I think I will fight for the Varden. Why? Unless this war ends, it will drive me insane. I find it hard enough to deal with the agonies of everyday life, let alone a war. So use me however you wish to, as I can do many things."

Elva's caretaker returned with a platter of food, which distracted the girl momentarily. In order to grow so fast, she needed to consume vast quantities of energy –which was more often than not stored in food.

When Elva didn't say anything else, Angela gestured at them. Their group accompanied the herbalist through a side door, leaving the pale girl siting alone in the room. The witch made sure that the door was closed before she started whispering. "All she does it eat and eat. We can't sate her appetite with the current rations, can you-"

"She will be fed. You needn't worry about it," Nasuada said rubbed her arms.

"Thank you."

"Has this ever happened to everyone else?"

Angela shook her head. "Not as far as I know. I tried to cast her future, but I cannot, because her life interacts with so many others."

"No shit," Raia sneered. "Future telling is a load of crap."

The witch looked at her with an annoyed expression. "Please keep your opinion to yourself, Shade, this is serious."

"Is she dangerous?" Nasuada quickly sensed, perhaps sensing that Raia was going to reply with an evern angrier statement.

"We are all dangerous."

"You know what I mean."

Angela shrugged. "She's more dangerous than some and less than others. The one she's most likely to kill though, is herself. If she meets someone who is about to be hurt at one of her wrong moments and Eragon's spell catches her unaware, she might take the doomed person's place. That is she stays inside most of the time"

"How does she know it is a minute?"

"She just knows."

Nasuada was silent for half a minute before she spoke up again. "I realize that this is presumptuous of me, as you aren't under my command and I know little of your life or duties, but I have a favor to ask of you."

"Proceed," Angela waved a hand.

"Would you be willing to keep an eye on Elva for me? I need-"

"Of course! And I'll keep two eyes on her, if I can spare them. I relish the opportunity to study her."

Ugh…Raia hated the witch's attitude. Always replying the wittiest and cockiest comeback…it was sickening. Angela needed a heavy dose of pain and traumas to erase that filthy attitude.

"You will have to report to me," Nasuada warned her.

"I suppose I can manage."

"I have your word then?"

"You have my word."

Nasuada looked relieved, plunging into a nearby chair. "Oh, what a mess. What a damn mess. As Eragon's liegelord, I am responsible for his deeds, but I never imagined that he would do anything as dreadful as this. It is a blight on my honor as much as his."

"Yes," Angela darkly said as she cracked her knuckles, "I intent to speak to him about it once he returns from Ellesméra."

Raia was more worried about something else though. She knew of one other creature that grew faster than normal and that was Aeraleth, Spartan's dragon. She had grown to Saphira's size –sexual maturity and fire-breathing not included up to now- in about one-sixth the time. If Elva kept this up, she might already be an adult by the time that Eragon returned. That would be fun.

~0~

Maine stepped through the slowly darkening forest, carefully avoiding all branches that were scattered on the ground. He had intended to leave the city so that he could find the Forerunner structure again, but the forest was a maze. He didn't want to risk getting lost, so he had scouted the perimeter of Ellesméra in an attempt to find his way to the structure. He had seen many things, most of which he had ignored. But he had stumbled upon Daenlith's house, close to the barracks where he slept. Aeraleth had been sitting in the courtyard, with the elf herself sitting a few meters across of her. They had looked like had been mentally conversing, so the Spartan had quietly left again.

Seeing his partner and the elf together had done something strange with his head. He knew that he was feeling an emotion, but he didn't know which one. He honestly did not know and that was frustrating.

He had left Daenlith's house without even showing himself to them. They hadn't seen him though, as so few elves did. The occasional one would glance at him and jump to attention, but he always ignored them and marched on. Eventually, he found a tunnel of dogwood that seemed to lead somewhere, so he decided to follow that in an attempt to find something of interest. No sooner had he done so however, when he spotted two familiar figures. One was brown-haired and the size of a human teen and the other one was black-haired and the size of a tall marine.

Eragon and Arya.

He realized that he hadn't been the best sight for them in quite a while. He had greatly insulted Aeraleth already and he didn't feel like messing up something else. He just wanted to leave Ellesméra and return to killing humanity's enemies, but things weren't as simple as that.

Maine was about to turn away when Arya turned around to show Eragon a certain flower and spotted him.

Instead of frowning or ignoring him or even chasing him away, she looked straight at him and greeted him. Rather kindly. Did that have something to do with their last conversation?

He didn't want to impose on them though, as all conversations he had with others ended in problems. "I was just leaving," he quietly told the two.

"Nonsense," Arya replied. She seemed more cheerful than before and even Eragon –whom he had left under rather vague odds the last time- seemed not upset to see him. "I have no reason to think that anyone is showing you Ellesméra. I was just about to introduce Eragon to someone I respect greatly. Do you wish to come with us?"

What was she playing at? Why did she want him with her? Was she staging an ambush, leading him to an elf with enough power to incapacitate him? Or was she intent on creating another conflict, increasing the problems that he had with these people?

Maine was about to ask Aeraleth for help when he remembered that they weren't talking to each other. That was negative. He didn't want to spent any second more with living beings, but neither did he want to instigate another conflict. He felt strangely tired of all the problems that he had been having.

Knowing that he was about to make a great mistake, he agreed. "Sure."

Eragon threw him an awkward smile, looking rather nervous and disturbed. He opened his mouth, perhaps to ask the Spartan a question, but then thought better of it and kept quiet.

"Where is Aeraleth?" she asked.

He didn't reply. They entered an enclosed atrium of a house grown out of a ring of trees. An open-walled hut occupied the center of the atrium, where an old forge and an impressive array of tools had been installed. Was Arya leading them to a smithy?

An elf woman held a pair of small tongs in a nest of molten coals, working with her right hand at something. With uncanny movements, she pulled the tongs from the fire and revealed a ring of white-hot steel clamped in the pincers. Then she looped the ring through the edge of an incomplete mail corselet hung over the anvil, grasped a hammer and welded the open ends of the ring shut with a blow and a burst of sparks.

Arya approached her. "Atra esterni ono thelduin."

The elf faced them and much to Maine's surprise, she looked old. She had wrinkles and lines and everything. It was the first time he saw anything like that amongst the elves.

She gave no response to Arya though; something which, had he done the same, would have elected a chorus of complaints for it being offensive and discourteous. It was the queen's daughter after all and on the contrary to him, that should have meant something to the elf.

"Rhunön-elda, I have brought you the newest Riders, Eragon Shadeslayer and Spartan Starpredator."

What was a starpredator? Someone who preyed on the stars? And wasn't 'elda' supposed to be some great honorific?

"I heard you were dead," Rhunön said to Arya. Her voice sounded rasping and guttering, like a Spartan that had been smoking for three-hundred years.

Arya smiled. "When did you last leave your house, Rhunön?

"You should know. It was that midsummer feast you forced me to attend."

"That was three years ago."

"Was it?" the aged elf frowned as she banked the coals and covered them with a grated lid. "Well, what of it? I find company trying. It's…" she glared at Arya. "Why are we speaking in this foul language? I suppose you want me to forge a sword for him? You know I swore to never create instruments of death again, not after that traitor of a Rider and the destruction he wreaked with my blade."

Damn…no-nonsense attitude and straight to the point.

"Eragon already has a sword," Arya said. She presented the sword to the smith, who took the blade and observed it carefully.

"Zar'roc, I remember thee. As perfect as the day you were finished." She turned her back to them. "My entire life I spent hammering these swords out of ore. Then he came along and destroyed them…centuries of effort obliterated in an instant. So far as I knew, only four examples of my art still existed. His, Oromis's and two others guarded by families who managed to rescue them."

As the elf asked Eragon where he got that sword –and Eragon hastily explained it- she started eying Maine very carefully.

Eventually, after the boy told Rhunön that he had killed Durza with the blade, she started talking to the Spartan.

"You. Come closer."

Maine, who was too flabbergasted at her attitude to retort, felt his body move in an instant. The elf sounded like she could exert command through experience instead of rank and that was an aspect which he liked. It reminded him of his superior officers, who had always supplied him with clear orders.

"Your armour looks…impressive. Where did you get it?"

That was as good an understatement as any. "My people made it."

"Humans? Can't remember them being so good with their hands," the elf roughly said.

"I'm not from around," he replied.

"I got that much," she replied and reached out to touch his armour. Normally when someone extended their arm towards him, he had to act with lethal intentions to defend himself. And because that response to hostile actions was so instinctive to him, he had to work not to tear Rhunön's arm from her socket and shatter her chest cavity. "But this…this is some excellent craftsmanship. Her hand reached his chestplate and just like with Oromis, the shimmering energy shield blocked her way.

Eragon and Arya, who had never seen that before, both took a step backwards when that happened. The aged elf whispered something in the ancient language and looked at him. "So. Shadeslayer killed a Shade. Starpredator?"

"Came from the stars," he replied and stepped back too. Her eyes flashed with recognition for a split-second, but then she frowned again. "Ah. Islanzadí won't have liked that."

"How did you-?"

"I don't want to talk about that. Now begone! I am weary of this talk."

"Rhunön-elda," Arya said, "I will return for you on the eve of the eve of the Agaeti Blödhren."

A grunt was her only reply.

As Eragon and Arya conversed together over the elf they had just met, Maine left their company completely. He had recognized the part of the city where he had entered and he knew that the small path that was currently positioned to his right would allow him to find the Forerunner structure.

He spent a few minutes retracing the path he had taken days ago and while he did, he started wondering about the things he had seen and heard. Daenlith, who hated riders and dragons, had been sitting in Aeraleth's vicinity and Arya, who had always hated _him, _had invited him to join her and Eragon. And then there was the mysterious way everyone acted when he spoke the words 'star'. Even the cranky old elven lady had recognized and extrapolated that people hadn't liked it. What was the deal with that?

Maine saw a familiar shimmer in the distance and soon, he came across the Forerunner building. Despite its age of hundreds of thousands of years, it still looked as new as the day it had been built. No scratches, dents or other impurities. It was in perfect state.

He walked to the spot where he had seen the yellow console the last time and as soon as he stood before it, the console sprang to life. A yellow-orange screen appeared as if from thin air, like the ones he had seen before. If he remembered it correctly, only a human touch could activate whatever mechanism was hidden away. It would be foolish to attempt to do so without finding out just what its effect would be, but…he had been brought to this planet because of Forerunner interference. And now he had encountered a Forerunner building. It could not be coincidental.

The Spartan reached out and pressed his gauntlet against the shimmering console, hoping that he hadn't just activated some weapon of mass destruction.

The moment his hand came in contact with the screen, something moved in his peripheral vision. He jumped backwards and pulled out his SMG, flicked off the safety and aimed it at the set of doors –which was now opening. He had probably deactivated some locking system, opening the building up with his touch. That was NOT what he had in mind; the last time some Forerunner building had been opened up…damn, he had to fix this. Fix this fast.

He pressed his free hand against the console again, but nothing happened. Cursing under his breath, he brandished one of his two plasma grenades and readied it to roast anything that came out of that…opening?

The door had opened up to reveal another door. Which was closed.

Maine sighed and approached the second set of doors, placing his hand against the silvery steel. Perhaps it had not been very wise to open a strange Forerunner building without knowing what it contained, but…he didn't really have a choice. Besides; this place wasn't a Halo. This building would most likely contain some cache of technology or…or weapons. Things like that.

She searched around the structure's vicinity and checked for other consoles, but he found none. The only console that could interact with the structure was the one that had only opened up one set of doors. That was too bad.

Maine returned to the front of the building, tried to activate the console once more and was rewarded with a severe lack of activity.

In the end, he decided to return to his barracks. It was getting late and he didn't have much to do for the rest of the day any way. So he left the Forerunner building, marched into Ellesméra again and sought his refuge in the barracks. He didn't bother checking up with Aeraleth again, as she was probably still mad at him.

Now that he had had some time to think about her statements, Aeraleth´s anger made more sense to him. He had been acting rude and violent against everyone around him and he could imagine why that would make her angry. But that was the thing; he could imagine it, but he didn't agree with it. He was a Spartan; a soldier designed to fight mankind's enemies. He didn't want to waste his days with messing around in some mediaeval setting; his patience reserves were just too low for that.

But the brutal honesty was that the UNSC did not need him; the war with the Covenant was over, the Halo threat had been ended and the Forerunners…they had a plan for him. For all the Spartans. But did their plan involve him messing around in this world? Or was this some sort of cosmic accident, in which he had become the victim.

No, he shouldn't think in those terms. Long-term strategic decisions should be made by UNSC Officers; he should just follow orders and complete missions. Only…what mission was he supposed to complete here? What was his objective? What did he need to do in Alagaesia in order to return to the UNSC?

He kept wondering about those issues even as he entered his barracks again and once again, he considered contacting Aeraleth for her guidance. She had never failed to help him when his own logic and thought-processes would fail him…and now she was angry with him. He didn't want her to be angry with him, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. He did not fully understand the scale of her emotions and without someone to help him in that area, he might as well be completely alone/

Even in the evening, when the night fell and he had inspected his weapons for the fifth time, did Aeraleth not contact him. As they were irreversibly linked together he could still feel her presence near her mind, but it didn't run deep enough for her to acknowledge him yet.

So, with nothing else to do, he turned to his latest pet project. The standard cartridge for the modern-day assault rifle consisted out of a several components. The first one was the bullet, sometimes referred to as a head. The qualities of these bullets made for the qualities of the round as a whole; high-exploding, armour-piercing, incendiary and even hollow-point. If he wanted to recreate an assault rifle cartridge, he would need bullets, propellant, a primer, a ridge and a casing to hold it all together. Creating bullets wasn't a very big issue, but creating the propellant to actually fire them would be problematic. He could eventually manipulate his assault rifle to hold the custom-made cartridges, but doing so might ruin the weapon.

And creating gunpowder wasn't very easy. He needed Sulfur, charcoal and saltpeter in the right proportions to create it. Once he had that, he could produce the black powder and start manufacturing the rounds. Charcoal was easy to get, Sulfur and saltpeter less so. In theory, he could create saltpeter by gathering urine in sand, separating the nitrates from the sand and then filtering it with a certain type of ash. The Sulfur could be gathered using a process that he had heard of years ago, during which a teacher explained how natural forces could work without electricity or heat. It involved pouring superheated water into a natural deposit, followed by forcing hot air into the collective, which forced the molten Sulfur to the surface.

In theory, he could burn some wood to gather ashes and charcoal and then ask any living being to assist him with gathering the saltpeter. But he needed to find a naturally occurring Sulfur-deposit to gather the third element of gunpowder…and then he needed to use magic to combine it.

And then he only had a propellant, not an entire round. But he was patient and he had the time; he didn't need a lot of sleep –he never did- and the night was still young.

He needed more magical words to initiate chemical reactions. If he knew the True Name of Sulfur and Nitrate, he could simply use magic to separate them form wood. He could say something along the lines of 'Separate a part of the Sulfur in this wood' and then watch as the most volatile part of his gunpowder flowed into his hands, without having to risk dying to due energy-consumption. A part was decided by him, after all.

What had Raia said again? A true master could to anything with the simplest word? If a magician knew the word for gem, they could use it to manipulate water. It was the mental link between water and gem that made it possible to do this, but it had been highly dangerous. Very dangerous.

And how could he link Sulfur to the words he knew, anyway? The ancient language prevented lying, so he had to truly believe it. But…Sulfur was technically a nonmetal, so he couldn't use the word for 'metal' to manipulate it. Although…fire and brimstone. Brimstone was 'burning stone' according the bible, used as a building material for hell. Brimstone missiles had been used in the past as anti-armour weapons and as the instructors had explained, they had been named after brimstone…which was the burning part of hell…with the smell of sulfur.

Brimstone was sulfur and burning stone. Fire-stone. Brisingr stenr. He didn't know how to say 'split' or 'separate' in that Language, so he had to adapt.

"Moi thornessa brisingr stenr," he whispered. Change this firestone. He concentrated purely in the mental image of Sulfur and his wish to separate it from the wooden bed inside of the barracks. After a few minutes, a pungent smell started to fill the room. After a few more minutes, the wood started to smoke. And then it caught fire.

He frowned and quickly muttered: "Thrysta vindr," or compress the air. It forced the oxygen away from the fire and created a temporary vacuum. It also drained him of some of his energy, but it was barely noticeable compared to the energy-drain that the wood had caused. He was very careful in voicing his wishes and manipulating the laws of physics; air was always moved by simple movements, in theory. It didn't take a lot of energy to manipulate air, but he had obviously done something wrong with his whole brimstone experiment. He needed to reevaluate his findings.

But not now. He had wasted enough energy in his experiments and he could ask Oromis for help tomorrow…provided that Aeraleth felt like carrying him to the old elf.

He laid down in one of the intact beds and shut his eyes. It took him a long time to actually get his body to relax and once he did, the sounds of nature became more apparent to him. He heard the distant laughter of elves, musical and magical. He heard birds chattering and the wind howling through the trees. He heard a faint growling sound that might have been a dragon's snoring, but he couldn't be sure which dragon it belonged to.

Slowly, he drifted away.

"_We have him subdued, begin your procedure." A voice echoed from behind him, sounding oddly muffled in nature. Something shone bright above his face and it took him a few seconds to realize what it was. _

"_Yes sir," another voice answered the first one, coming from above him. The person was holding a scalpel, which reflected the blinding light coming from above him. Upon seeing the bladed edge of the surgical equipment, anger stabbed through his chest. He reached for the face of the man, adorned with a mask over the mouth and spectacles in front of the eyes. But he could not, because his arms were secured to the solid ground underneath him with leather manacles. They held back his considerable strength and, he realized, served to secure him on an operating table._

_The knife was trailed back to his stomach and he watched the edge coming awfully close to his bare chest, already scarred from combat. Then the blade continued down to his stomach, where fewer scars disfigured his skin. The doctor sighed and the first voice, muffled still, began to chuckle. _

_Then the metal bit into his flesh, slicing through the skin with ease and causing blood to well up from the breach. Pain shot through his body, but it was nothing compared to the indescribable rage that followed in its wake. The doctor continued his trial and soon, a four-inch long incision had been cut into his flesh. _

_He growled like an animal and pulled at the cuffs securing him down, straining the leather as he tore at them with all his might. The doctor did not notice his behavior and instead, grabbed another silvery object. _

"_What's the UNSC done now…" the man muttered and a device was activated in his hands, making a distinctive whirring noise. It too possessed bladed edges, but upon activation they had started to whirl around in a circling motion, resembling a buzz-saw._

_He jerked at the leather cuffs again as the doctor's device descended towards him, the twirling saws edging closer and closer towards his ribs. His hand jerked towards the man's head, but he could not reach him. Blood spurted out of the cut in his abdomen, but he did not feel the pain. All that he felt was the ravening desire to kill, the urge to get his hand around that man's skull_

_The buzz-saw connected with his chest and ripped into his flesh at the same time as his right arm snapped free of the leather manacles, tearing the tough material in half as his augmented muscles overpowered it. He reached for the nearest place of the doctor's body he could destroy and with a ragged scream, the man dropped his instrument. _

_He felt his thumb dig deep into something soft and he tightened the grip on his victim's head into an iron clasp. He heard high-pitched shrieking and screaming and warm blood poured over his hand. Then, as he increased his significant grip once more, he felt something cracking underneath his palm. Footsteps echoed through the room as several men rust inside, but he did not release his grip. People were screaming and guns were being cocked and a soldier bashed his rifle into his face, trying to knock him out and safe the doctor. Then, something completely shattered underneath his freed hand, stopping the high-pitched shrieking that he had been causing. The rifle came down another two times as the soldier desperately tried to stun him long enough for them to safe their man._

_The corpse slid out of his grasp and the heavy rifle was brought down a fourth time, snapping his bloodied head backwards. Still he grabbed the wrist of the nearest soldier and shattered it._

_A needle was plunged into his neck even as he reached for the scalpel that lay on his lap-_

A thunderous roar rummaged through the city and Maine shot upright, clutching his black combat knife in the hand that had been reaching out for a scalpel several seconds ago. His chest was heaving up and down and cold sweat clung to his forehead. The comforting presence of his armour reassured him of reality and slowly, he began to realize that he was not in a laboratory in some Insurrectionist hellhole designed to break soldiers. He was in a dark forest, where a thunderstorm had just woken him u.

He stared at the ground for a second before it truly hit him what had happened. When it did, an anger unlike anything he had felt before in weeks seized his head. He spun around and punched the wall, breaking through the sturdy and magically reinforced wood as if it were made out of wet paper. Then he lashed out and kicked against one of the beds, sending it flying several meters through the air before it impacted against a wall and slid down to the ground in several pieces.

Maine forced himself to sit down and take a few deep breaths after that. He had _never _let anything get to him like that…at least, not since he had learned how to properly banish all emotions and feelings of discomfort…years ago. Why? Why did he have to dream of _that _of all things? He hadn't been bothered by that for a long time and there was no reason for that to simply turn up in his head like that.

Still feeling utterly disgusted with that lack of self-control, the Spartan headed towards one of the intact beds and tried to catch some new shuteye.

Of course, the night was half over by that point and when dawn had finally arrived, it was already time to visit Oromis and Glaedr again.

He marched to the cliffs where he had met the dragon and its rider the first time and patiently waited for his partner to arrive. Aeraleth didn't keep him waiting very long, as she showed up about ten minutes later.

'_Morning,'_ he awkwardly said, not knowing how the female would act around him now.

'_You too,'_ she replied in a cool voice. It was apparent that she was still upset by how he had acted yesterday.

The Spartan was about to ask her how she was when he felt a presence touch his mind. He didn't stop to think and immediately banished all thoughts, leaving a complete void in his mind as he stared at a distanced tree. It was the serene state of mind when he practiced, as any deviation or lapse of concentration could mean failure of a technique or movement. Next to him, Aeraleth stiffened. The presence reached deeper into his mind and this time, he took a deep breath and focused on the image of a mangled Grunt corpse, after he had ignited the gas-tank with a high-explosive round. All other thoughts he banished away, leaving nothing behind but the thought of the smoldering corpse.

Eventually, Aeraleth growled loudly and bashed with her tail against him. Hard. His shields flared and dropped ten percent and even as he whirled to face the dragon, he heard her voice yelling at him.

'_It was Oromis trying to contact you,'_ she said through the newly created lapse in his focus and, a few seconds later, he heard the aged elf himself talking to him.

'_Very impressive Spartan. Take your blade with you today.'_

Blade? He didn't possess a sword or anything like that. His combat knife would have to suffice.

The two of them descended the cliff and made their way to Oromis' hut, where the old elf and his own giant dragon were already waiting for them. They greeted Aeraleth and him and then Oromis asked: "Did you not wait for Eragon?"

"We sleep in different places," he explained.

"Sure, but do you two not travel together?"

"No."

Oromis sighed. It seemed that the elf did that a lot. "It is well that you and he require completely different educations, for this might have been difficult otherwise. I have been meaning to give you this either way-" he handed the Spartan a scroll that he had been keeping on the ground behind him. "This is a dictionary. Study it well, for you will require a large vocabulary to properly fight with magic."

He took the scroll. "Thank you."

"Did you bring your blade?"

He unsheathed his combat knife twirled it around in his fingers and then presented it to Oromis, who took it and thoroughly watched it. "As elegant as the design is, you do not win a sword-fight if you wield a knife."

"A fool with a sword loses to an expert with a stick."

"Ah, but two warriors fighting on equal grounds must be as sharp as their own weapons. Where is your sword?"

"I don't have one."

"You don't?" Oromis raised an eyebrow and his expression turned thoughtful. "This is troublesome. How are you going to be sparring then?"

Sparring? That was not going to happen. "Not," he quickly said. Then he remembered what had been the reason to Aeraleth and him not talking and he quickly added: "Sparring with humans is too dangerous."

'_What are you if not human?'_ Glaedr was quick to ask him.

"Spartan," he vocalized his reply to the dragon.

"Why is that?" Oromis kindly asked. "Do you have a lack of self-control?"

The elf had no idea. "Spartans are physically superior to all humans and, I suspect, elves too."

"While the nature of that comment intrigues me deeply, I cannot understand why you do not wish to spar with your fellow student. Inexperienced he might be, but Eragon is no newcomer to the blade. If you are truly as capable as you state you are, you could scale down your abilities and hold back."

"Unless you want to see me dancing with Eragon, that's not going to cut it," he replied.

"I see. If you are human, how are you superior to your kin in terms of physiology? You speak of 'Spartan' being your name as well as your race. It is confusing at times."

Aeraleth shifted her attention from Glaedr to Maine, but she did not comment in any way. He was on his own. "It's irrelevant." He didn't think he was impressing Aeraleth in the slightest right now; she might even think he was being a stubborn kid…again. He couldn't have that.

"Is it? If you are going to prove to me the extent of your skills, I need to know what bodily feats you can reach. I need to know what you can do." Even though Oromis still sounded gentle, Maine guessed that there would be no denying him with words. And Oromis had a point; he had insulted the queen and her last remaining Rider as well without ever proving himself physically. Simply talking was a taboo among the Secret-Spartans, let alone boasting or comparing skills. But he didn't want to spar with another human ever again."

"When I was younger," he explained quietly, hesitating with every single word, "I accidentally killed my instructor during hand-to-hand combat." He pretended to not see Aeraleth visibly flinching at his revelation, but he couldn't act like he hadn't seen Oromis' eyes growing larger with shock. "Sometime after my training."

Oromis looked like he wanted to speak, but Aeraleth beat him to it.

'_You killed your instructor during combat? How? Why?'_

'_It was an accident. It was after…after my own augmentations.'_

'_Augmentations?'_

Even though he and Aeraleth were communicating at the speed of thought –which was _considerably _faster than normal human telepathy- Oromis and Glaedr were still watching the two of them intently.

"How did that happen, Spartan?" The elf asked him with a compassionate face, as if the memory pained Maine."

'_My body was biologically altered,'_ he told Aeraleth. Aloud, he told Oromis and Glaedr: "The martial arts that we were taught are deadly without proper caution. He and I both lacked that caution at a crucial moment."

'_Altered?'_ The dragon didn't sound remotely angry now. On the contrary; she sounded worried and…also uneasy. He knew that she would probably be completely disgusted with him if he told her the truth, he she deserved to know that much about him. She was mentally linked to him and she had the right to know just _what _she was linked to.

'_My body was scientifically altered to make me a better warrior. I can explain what this means…later.'_

'_But if one were to alter your body, it would take weeks of getting used to it. Even I have been having problems with my size lately!'_

'_Which is what my instructor found out the hard way.'_

'_When did this happen?'_

'_Please…later.'_

"Martial art?" Oromis asked. "The art of the warrior?"

"In a way, yes. Fighting techniques, revolving around the use of the body. The Spartans were trained to kill with single strikes."

"The more I learn about your people, the more I come to understand that your world is nothing like ours. But time is limited. I need to know what you can do, so I will be the one testing you."

"Ebrithil?" Maine hesitantly replied. The frail elf didn't look like the strongest warrior out there.

"Do not worry, it shall be only once. After that, if your powers are sufficient, I will sent for a an elf to accompany you to where those of Ellesméra practice swordplay. After that, you will proceed as normal."

"Why a different elf?" He asked. "Why not you…ebrithil?"

"Depending on our match, there will be little to teach you. What will remain for you is to preserve your level of skill, which will be kept at pace with a warrior younger and less… troubled than me."

"Sir."

"Ebrithil…"

"Ebrithil. But enough of this; Eragon and Saphira approach."

~0~

The wind howled wildly as Eragon and Saphira descended, sailing through the air and aiming towards the edge of the cliff where two dragons and two Riders were already waiting for them.

'_Aeraleth and her rider are early,'_

'_Aye,' _Eragon agreed. '_Very early. I told you that he does not require sleep!'_

'_And I told you that that is nonsense. Every creature requires sleep.'_

'_He doesn't. He never takes his suit off and he never sleeps, I am telling you!'_

'_Ah, but it is not a true creature of nature, is he now?'_

'_Are you still keeping that idea of yours up?'_ he asked his dragon as they landed a dozen meters away from Oromis. '_The blood-demon is only a nickname. A suffix. Just like grey predator.'_

'_But it is a predator. And grey…sort of.'_

'_More like black.'_

'_Only when it is covered in blood of its foes.'_

'_Stop calling him 'it' will you? He helped us a lot in Tronjheim. He is an ally.'_

'_IT is a monster!'_

'_Dwarves saw dragons as monsters.'_

'_Dwarves ride goats.'_

'_True.'_

Oromis and Glaedr greeted them and then questioned them about what they had learned from each other after their first lesson; they had forfeited to teach each other what they had been taught and their masters had not been pleased after that.

"Aeraleth, Saphira? You will go with Glaedr, like before. Eragon? I will test you after I have tested the Spartan; watch us fight and tell me what you have learned after that. Spartan? Guard your blade"

"Excuse me?"

"Guard the edge of your blade with magic, as I will do the same. We would not wish to hurt each other. Use these words…"

Oromis tutored the Spartan in the magical guarding of his weapon, which the blood-demon learned with inhuman speed. It had taken Eragon at least four tries to cover the edge of his sword with a magical edge and even then, the process took him at least half a minute to complete. The Spartan however managed to fix his combat knife within a second after having heard the words.

It was not fun to watch. The Rider's superiority was becoming very apparent now and Eragon couldn't stand the thought of that man…boy…teen…being better than he was.

'_It was only a dagger,_' Saphira told him, but he didn't reply. The elf and the armoured warrior drew their blades and then, after a moment of pause, the two of them clashed.

What happened after that, happened so fast that Eragon barely had time to process watch it. It was only because he had been spending months of training with Zar'roc that he could understand what the moves were, but even so he still had no clue what the Spartan did. Oromis had stepped forwards with more speed and ferocity than any human could have possibly mustered. In the blink of an eye, the elf had leaped forwards and struck at the Spartan with an overhanded blow, after which the armoured warrior had just…moved. Moved with such intense speed that Eragon didn't even see what had happened. Oromis stood there with his bronze sword extended horizontally in front of him, while the Spartan stood at his side, pointing the knife to his throat.

'_What,'_ Saphira asked him, '_just happened?'_

"Excellent Spartan," Oromis said in an awfully cheery voice for someone who had just been beaten within half a second. "Again."

They disengaged and took their combat positions again. The armoured rider had a very curious stance that looked nothing like the stance of ordinary swordfighters and even the way he held his knife made it apparent that he had to be very proficient with it.

Then they clashed again. Oromis was glorious in action, pouncing and moving like a cat. But the Spartan was just so incredibly _fast _that Oromis had been unable to land a single hit on him. This time, the younger rider struck first and lashed out at Oromis with his knife. The elf blocked the strike with the sword, but that was the extent of what Eragon was able to see. There was a rapid flurry of blows, Spartan battered Oromis' sword to the side and then Oromis lay on the ground.

"That was good," Oromis said and jumped back to his feet without even using his hands. "Very good. You outspeed me…that is not a feat to be taken lightly. But this verifies my suspicion; you are not human."

"You keep saying you are a Spartan," Eragon softly asked, "but what does that mean? How can anything else than human or elf be bonded to a dragon?"

Spartan ignored him and answered Oromis. "Irrelevant. What is going to happen to happen now?"

"Now? Now I shall test Eragon's skill with a blade. In the meantime, I want you to mediate. To open your mind to every living being around you. Listen to the sounds of nature until you can hear no more…then return to me."

Eragon half expected the Spartan to refuse. But after a minute of silence, the rider surprised both him and Saphira: he nodded and then walked away, heading towards the forest without even protesting.

'_I think,'_ Saphira said, '_that she is very capable of guiding him to his path.'_

Eragon ignored his partner's remark and guarded the edge of his blade like he had done before, with Brom. Spartan was so extremely skilled that not even Oromis had been capable of touching him. Sure, their fights had been brief and testing and perhaps the elf had been holding back, but he couldn't shake the image of Oromis lying on the ground after just several seconds of dueling.

He and Oromis took their respective positions and then clashed at each other. The instant their swords met, Eragon knew that he was as outmatched by Oromis as by Durza and Arya. Eragon was a skilled swordsman, but he could not compete with those whose blood ran thick with magic. He had thought that Oromis would cut him some slack, but that did not happen. His arm was too weak and his reflexes too slow and Oromis was just too graceful, too elegant.

Still, Eragon tried to win. He fought to the limits of his abilities, but it was still a futile prospect. Oromis forced him to utilize his entire arsenal of blows, counterblows and even tricks, but nothing worked.

"Move your feet faster," Oromis cried. "He who stands like a pillar dies in battle. He who bends like reed is triumphant!"

They had been sparring for almost twenty minutes when Oromis faltered, his narrow features clamping in a brief grimace. Eragon recognized the symptoms of Oromis' mysterious illness and stepped back. He was exhausted and sore and he didn't want to attack like that.

Oromis relaxed again and eyed Eragon with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. "You did not utilize that opening?"

Spartan might have done so, but Eragon couldn't have done it. "In a real fight, had you been my enemy, master, I would have. But here it would have been a low blow."

"Very well. Tend to your sword, then bathe and go to the stump in the glade and listen to the thoughts of the forest. When you too hear no more, come tell me what you have learned."

The first time Eragon had meditated and allowed his thoughts to flow freely, he had been concentrating too much on a group of ants instead of the whole picture. So now, as he sat on the stump of a tree (Spartan was nowhere to be seen) and tried to shift his attention to all.

He met with severely limited success. If he relaxed and allowed himself to absorb input from all the consciousnesses nearby, thousands of images and feelings rushed into his head and overwhelmed all of his senses. The sheer amount of flashes of sound, colour, touch and smell and pain and pleasure were too much for his mind to handle. His mind instinctively focused on one subject out of the torrent of stimulations, but that was the problem he had encountered before.

After an hour, Eragon returned to Oromis' hut. While he walked back from the forest to the cliff, his mind wondered to the baby he had blessed with the wrong form of the Ancient Language. 'May you be shielded' had been his intention. Oromis had reacted with horror he had recited the exact words he had used.

'May you be a shield' he had used. Even though both Arya and Saphira had managed to ease his mind on that horrible mistake, he still couldn't forget about the consequences of his actions. When he returned to the Varden, he would correct his mistake.

When he eventually arrived at the hut, Spartan was already waiting for him. Oromis did not look remotely amused, but he didn't say anything strange when Eragon walked inside.

Then, they spoke of the true nature of their mediations. How magicians could risk their lives in an attempt to murder you and how you would need to be aware of everyone around you in case someone was intent on doing just that. How the only way to be fully aware of everyone around you was opening your mind completely and subtly reading the intentions of your environment.

Eragon did not agree on this, as it was a gross invasion of privacy in his mind.

"It is an invasion of privacy and you will learn many things from it that you never wanted to. However, this is for your own good and the good of the Varden. I can say from experience, and from watching other Riders experience the same, that this, above all else, will help you to understand what drives people. And understanding begets empathy and compassion, even for the meanest beggar in the meanest city of Alagaesia.

Oromis retrieved a loaf of freshly baked bread, a wood jar of hazelnut butter and a pair of bowls that he had ladled full of a vegetable stew that had been simmering in a pot hung over a bed of coals in the corner fireplace.

As they silently ate their meal (Spartan chose to stay unfed once more) Oromis touched another subject. "Can you tell me, what is the most important mental tool a person can possess?"

It was a serious question and Eragon considered it for a reasonable span. "Determination?"

Oromis tore the loaf of bread in half with his long, white fingers. "I can understand why you arrived at that conclusion, but no. Spartan?"

"Depends on the situation and person. Creativity?"

"Again, an excellent conclusion, albeit not the correct one. Creativity is a vital tool in combat, but I meant the tool most necessary to choose the best course of action in any given situation. Determination is as common among men who are dull and foolish as it is among those who are brilliant intellects. Creativity is both employed by masterful tacticians as young children and cannot help you assess the best choice in a problem, only how to fully exploit your taken choice."

The ability to make a good choice…"Wisdom," Eragon finally said. "Wisdom and experience."

"Logic," the Spartan then softly said and much to Eragon's surprise, Oromis agreed. "Yes, logic. Or to put it in another way, the ability to reason analytically. Applied properly, you can overcome any lack of wisdom or experience and pave the way for creativity."

Eragon frowned. "Yes, but isn't having a good heart more important than logic? Pure logic can lead you to conclusions that are ethically wrong, whereas if you are moral, that will ensure you don't act like those we are fighting."

"Morals and ethics won't help you win a war. In war, you do whatever it takes to win," the Spartan replied. Oromis looked at the soldier with a hint of worry.

"No Spartan, not whatever it takes. We shall not lower ourselves to our enemy's standards. But Eragon, you confuse the issue. All I wanted to know was the most useful tool a person can have, regardless of their morals."

Then Oromis explained that, in life, terms like good and evil were abstract and difficult to work with. How logic allowed you to remain above the position of those who clouded themselves with their views, like people who grew mad in a crowd

Eragon felt satisfied that Oromis disagreed with the Spartan's view, no matter how small that might have been. "How do you intend to teach me this logic?"

Oromis' smile broadened. "By the oldest and most effective method: debating. I will ask you a question and you will answer me and defend your position. For example, why do you fight the empire?"

The sudden change of topic caught Eragon off guard and he could not really formulate proper answer to the presented question. Spartan remained quiet throughout their conversation and eventually, Oromis decided that Eragon needed time to think over his answer.

So they moved on to magic. As they had so little time to practice their language, their master had told them to communicate as much in the ancient language as possible, even when not near the cliffs.

Oromis brought out pens and ink for Eragon and they resumed his education of the Liduen Kvaedhi, the written form of the ancient language. He gave Spartan a few scrolls and started questioning him over the use of magic while Eragon focused on the arcane glyphs. Sometimes Eragon focused his attention to the conversation going on between Spartan and Oromis. The Spartan was extremely proficient in both understanding new and broadening old knowledge. What took Eragon hours and hours to understand, the soldier learned in mere minutes.

But Oromis was disturbed by Spartan's tended to link all forms of magic back to killing and eventually, Eragon grew a bit tired of the simple reading. So he asked his master if they wouldn't start working with magic and Oromis reluctantly agreed.

Oromis started off by explaining the things he wanted to teach them and how they had so little time. He further explained the ways of magic; how one had to vocalize the words, but also think them to manipulate it. He told them how one could use one word and create something completely new with a single thought.

Then he created two orbs of water and flung them at both Eragon as the Spartan. "Catch!"

Eragon tried to catch it with his hands, but as soon as he caught it the sphere lost cohesion and splashed across his chest. Soaked wet, he glanced at Spartan. He, of course, had captured the sphere with magic.

"Catch it with magic, Eragon," Oromis told him. "Again!"

The midday went by rather quickly and by the time Oromis was done with them, Eragon had been thoroughly tired out. Oromis had let him magic around with the water for what had felt like hours, manipulating tis every quality. It was only because Spartan seemed to have accepted Oromis manner of teaching that Eragon quietly complied.

Then Oromis had them stop working with magic and told them that, to complete this day of education, he had asked for two elves to guide them to the place where all elf warriors practiced.

"Why can't you teach us yourself, master?" Eragon asked with shock. He didn't want to humiliate himself against some other elf he did not know.

"Because I do not appreciate beginning the day with alarum and conflict," Oromis harshly said. Then he looked at Eragon and relented. "And because it will be good for the both of you –more so for Spartan than for you, Eragon- to become acquainted with others who live here. I am not representative of my race. But enough of that; look, they approach."

The two dragons glided across the flat disk of the sun. First came Glaedr with a roar of wind, blotting out the sky with his massive bulk before he settled on the grass and folded his golden wings. Then came Saphira and Aeraleth, as agile and quick as eagles.

Glaedr snorted and crawled alongside Oromis, half hopping to compensate for his missing limb. Then, both Aeraleth and Saphira moved towards Glaedr –and suddenly the two female dragons pounced at each other with ear-splitting roars. The black dragon had grown to Saphira's size in a very rapid time and she was very much her equal in combat. The two were thrashing around on the ground, flattening trees and rocks before anyone had any idea just why they had started to fight each other.

"Saphira!" Eragon shouted and ran towards his dragon, as did Spartan and Oromis.

"Aeraleth, stand down!" the Spartan barked at his dragon with his ragged voice, but that didn't help a thing. The two dragons were tearing and snapping at each other with large talons and hooked claws and shimmering teeth and blood started to trickle to the ground.

It took Glaedr twisting around roaring violently at the two dragons to make them stop and even then, they kept glaring at each other with open malice and anger.

"Contain yourself Saphira, Aeraleth!" Oromis shouted. Eragon detected anger from his partner, but also some other emotion he could not quite identify. He glared at the Spartan in case the Rider was upset with Saphira's behavior, but the Spartan only had attention for his own partner. The two reptiles settled on their haunches, but nothing in their demeanor expressed that they had grown calm again.

Oromis waved a hand. "Begone, all of you."

Without arguing, Eragon scrambled onto Saphira. He had to urge her to take flight, as she constantly focused on Aeraleth instead of him. Eventually, the Spartan gestured at him with a sharp jerk of his head, signaling for him to leave.

'_Why did you assault her?' _he demanded from Saphira. He thought he knew, but he wanted to confirm it.

'_It was a…territorial matter. Besides, she attacked me.'_

'_Territorial in what area?' _When Saphira remained silent, he took it upon himself to try and explain how wrong her action had been. '_By attacking her, you alienate our allies! You distract Glaedr and Oromis and hinder our training.'_

'_Do not presume to be my conscience. You would not understand the problem anyway.'_

'_Me?' _he laughed. '_After all the times you told me what to do and what not to do, I am the one who shouldn't act like your consciousness? The irony…Saphira, you are not the only one who is interested in Glaedr, are you? Aeraleth sees him too. I am certain that her rider is chastising her as we speak. Just…just stop pestering him with your attention, alright?'_

She remained silent.

´_Saphira?'_

'_I hear you.'_

'_I hope.'_

'_So you will spar with an elf now? Are you ready for that?'_

'_How can I be ready? I was unable to defeat Oromis…and he is weaker than other warrior elves. I will only humiliate myself in that duel.'_

'_You two-legged creatures always insist on honor in your fights, do you not? If you and this elf will truly duel together, you need not fear. It will only be for training purposes.'_

He felt better after that statement. '_Thanks Saphira.'_

They arrived near the cliffs and made their way to their tree, where they waited and rested for half an hour before they were met by a solemn, black-haired elf. The elf bowed, touched two fingers to his lips –which Eragon mirrored- and then preempted Eragon by saying: "May good fortune rule over you."

"And may the stars watch over you," Eragon replied. "Did Oromis send you?"

The elf ignored him and addressed Saphira. "Well met dragon. I am Vanir of House Haldthin."

…alright, that wasn't very polite.

'_Well met, Vanir.'_

Only then did the elf address Eragon. "I will show you where you may practice with your blade." He strode away without waiting for Eragon to catch up."

The sparring yard was dotted with elves of both sexes fighting in pairs and groups. Their extraordinary physical gifts resulted in flurries of blows so quick and fast that they sounded like bursts of hail striking an iron bell. They resembled Spartan in a certain way, but without the extreme speed that dominated his movements. Spartan was leagues faster, but Eragon didn't know how that was possible.

Under the trees that fringed the yard, individual elves performed the Rimgar –the elegant series of warming-up techniques that resembled an intricate dance- with more grace and flexibility than Eragon thought he could ever achieve.

After everyone on the field stopped and bowed to Saphira, Vanir unsheathed his narrow blade. "If you will guard your sword, Silver Hand, we can begin."

Eragon eyed the inhuman swordsmanship of the other elves with unease. '_Why do I have to do this?'_ He asked Saphira.

'_You will be fine,'_ Saphira said, yet he could sense her concern for him.

'_Right.'_

As he prepared Zar'roc, Eragon's hands trembled with dread. His back hadn't hurt him in a long time since Raia had healed his back, but he didn't want to be belittled as a human compared to the elves with their skills. So he fought Vanir from a distance, dodging, sidestepping and doing everything possible to delay their fight and potentially avoid triggering another fit.

Despite his evasions and counterattacks, Vanir touched him four times in rapid succession –once each on his ribs, shin and both shoulders.

The elf's initial expression of stoic impassivity soon devolved into open contempt, Dancing forward, he slid his blade up Zar'roc's length while at the same time twirling the blade in a circle, wrenching Eragon's wrist. Eragon allowed Zar'roc to fly out of his hand rather than resist the elf's superior strength.

Vanir dropped his sword onto Eragon's neck and said, "Dead."

Shrugging off the sword, Eragon trudged over to retrieve Zar'roc.

"Dead," the elf said again. "How do you expect to defeat Galbatorix like this? I expected better, even from a weakling human."

"Not even the riders of old could defeat Galbatorix like that," Eragon hissed back, carefully biting his sharper retorts back. "You need time to train and learn."

"Coward," Vanir snapped at Eragon. Nobody moved on the field. "Coward I say. Your blood is as thin as the rest of your race's. I think that Saphira was confused by Galbatorix's wiles and made the wrong decision."

The elves muttered among themselves with open disapproval for his atrocious breach of etiquette. Eragon ground his teeth in anger; he could stand insults to himself, but not to his partner. He whirled around and lashed out at Vanir, who brought his own blade up in surprise. But before Eragon's attack could hit the elf, a voice rang out over the battlefield. It was a rough, ragged voice that sounded very familiar.

"Then why don't you fight Galbatorix, instead of hiding away in your little forest?"

Eragon and Vanir turned around to see who had called the elf out and Eragon was surprised to see that it was Spartan. The soldier was marching towards them over the field, followed closely by his black dragon and a silver-haired elf.

Vanir stiffened with outrage. "Because," he said, haughty and self-righteous, "I'm not a Rider. And if I were, I would not be such a coward-"

"Bullshit," the Spartan barked and stepped closer to them, facing the lean elf. Vanir was as tall as any elf was, larger than most men with his six feet. The Spartan towered over him by at least thirty centimeters –and Eragon could very clearly see Vanir's eyes shrinking with shock and…fear? It occurred to Eragon that the soldier was extremely large; most humans were shorter than elves were, but _he _was even larger than they were. How much of that was his armour and how much was his body? "In war, everyone fights."

"Like a human would know anything of war," Vanir said with disdain.

"More than you," Spartan replied and stepped closer.

"Do you now?" The elf still looked contemptuous, but he also took a step backwards when the armoured rider came too close to him. "You had better leave this place, Rider, for I hold no patience for fools."

But to the surprise of the elves around them, the Spartan pulled out his combat knife and assumed his strange warrior's stance. "Don't worry; this won't take long."

Vanir raised his eyebrows. Another human wishes to challenge me? I do hope you provide me with more of a challenge than the other one."

Eragon watched as the Spartan and the elf faced each other. Neither one had guarded their blade.

'_What is it doing?'_ Saphira asked.

'_He is going to fight Vanir,'_ he replied, '_and I think he is going to win too.'_

Saphira remained quiet, staring at the two 'two-legs' she hated the most. Vanir had insulted and belittled him and even questioned her own mental ability; it only made sense for her to dislike him.

'_Let's just watch,'_ the dragon stated, '_and see how this goes.'_

But as Eragon watched the angry impression on Vanir's face and the demonic appearance of the Spartan's knife, he understood that nothing about the fight was going to be easy or peaceful.

~0~

Maine eyed his elf opponent carefully, keeping his combat knife horizontally. He had watched the entire fight and he thought he knew how Vanir would attack, but it never hurt to be careful.

Vanir leaned forward the slightest bit and Maine immediately knew that the elf would strike. When the elf actually struck at him with a diagonal slash, aimed at his neck, the Spartan simply stepped out of the way and whipped his knife through the air. He didn't even need to use his strength; he simple brushed the narrow blade aside and stepped close to the elf like he had done with Oromis, placing his knife at his throat.

"Dead," he barked at Vanir and then, when the elf disengaged and kept his distance, he chose to go on the offensive himself. He took two quick steps towards Vanir, exchanged five blows with which he barely allowed the elf to keep up and then he placed his hand on top of Vanir's word, pushed him forwards by shifting his hips and brought him out of balance. The stumbling elf was met by a knife pointed at his spine, "dead," and his stomach, "dead."

"A dagger is a coward's weapon!" Vanir bit at him, the tips of his ears growing red. "Only assassins and spies use them!"

"Assassin and spies win wars kid," he retorted, but then deliberately stepped back and casually tossed his knife at Aeraleth, thinking that she would catch it with the tip of her tail. However, it was Daenlith who plucked the weapon out of the air. He had almost forgotten that she had been watching him.

'_You make me proud,'_ Aeraleth warmly spoke to him, like a mother would to her child. Not one had he paid any mind to the honours that had been stacked onto him throughout the years, but her comment made him feel prouder than an entire courtroom with veteran Officers during a ceremonial commendation had ever done.

'_Thanks,'_ he replied awkwardly. Now that he knew that his partner-of-mind was rooting for him, he suddenly felt something he hadn't felt in a very long time.

He felt the desire to impress. Taking on the stance that he had been taught years back, he waited patiently for his foe to attack him. In normal combat, where tactics and strategies applied, offense was a good defense. But in one-on-one combat, it was better to wait for a foe to come charging at you when there was no element of surprise.

Vanir, probably thinking that Maine had been overconfident in throwing aside his only weapon, smirked smugly and attacked with "sudden" ferocity. Of course, the Spartan instantly noticed the change in attitude and countered accordingly. He side-stepped the crotch-level stab and twisted his body around, preventing Vanir from raising his sword by grabbing his wrists with one large gauntlet and jabbing with his elbow at his face. "Dead," he bit at him after he had stopped his elbow half an inch in front of Vanir's face. Before the elf could even think of moving, Maine whirled behind the elf and clasped two fingers on his throat. "Dead."

The elf gasped, but he wasn't done yet. Maine picked up the pace and pulled out a second, albeit smaller combat knife from his hip and pointed it against Vanir's spine. "Dead." Then he whirled the elf around, dove underneath the stupidly sluggish sword-trike and pulled him down to the ground. Then, he wrapped an armoured arm around his neck and forced him upright again. "Dead."

The elf grunted and wheezed. "Letta, you win Spartan-finiarel…"

Maine released Vanir, who crashed to the ground in a miserable heap. Then he turned around and let his gaze run over the elves who had been watching the fight, watching as they eyed him with a mixture of shock and disbelief. The one who had doubted his skills back at the banquet was also there. Sevenar.

"Spartan," he quietly told Vanir and then looked at Sevenar. "Humanity's finest."

'_Was this for Eragon? Or for you?'_ Aeraleth asked him. Saphira marched up to Vanir and touched him on the chest with the point of one of her ivory talons. '_Dead,'_ she told him. The elf visibly paled and the other elves edged away from him.

'_Eragon doesn't need some arrogant ass bullying him,'_ he replied. '_And I don't need someone insulting humanity.'_

'_You honestly care for him?'_

Maine watched the exhausted boy sheathing his sword again, while the blue dragon approached Aeraleth and him.

'_He's human. Emotional. Flawed. With a future.'_

Aeraleth glared at Saphira as she walked towards them, but the blue dragon didn't look at her. Maine saw Arya walking towards Eragon as she made her way out of the crowd, but then the blue dragon stopped in front of him and he didn't see the kid and the elf anymore

He casually brought his right hand to his sidearm even as Aeraleth started to growl. Daenlith eyed the two dragons like she didn't know what to do about their presence.

Then Saphira touched his helmet with her snout. '_Thank you,'_ she told him with her mental voice. Then she turned around and joined her rider again; Arya, Eragon and she headed westward to some unknown quadrant of Ellesméra.

'_So…'_ Aeraleth asked him a few minutes later, when Daenlith had led them back to her home, '_…biological augmentations?'_

'_Yes,'_ he replied. He found it odd that they were visiting one of the rare elves who actually disliked riders and their dragons, but didn't vocalize his opinion. He was relieved that he and Aeraleth were on speaking terms again and he didn't want to waste that now. '_Adaptations made to the human body to make them stronger.'_

They had reached the elf's house. She let him in without a word and Aeraleth took the scenic route to her courtyard. '_Stronger how? Physically?'_

'_Yes. Humanity had already been at war for years before I was born. To counter the enemy, the UNSC needed super-soldiers. Spartans. So the Office of Naval Intelligence –ONI- made them. Changed their…our bodies.'_

He joined Aeraleth in the large courtyard and sat down against her flank. Daenlith appeared in the door-opening and watched them with an odd expression on her face. She was clothed in simple, yet elegant garbs that resembled a dress but most likely were not.

'_How did they do that? Magic?'_

'_There is no magic with my people. They did it with science. Implanted us…injected us. Altered us.'_

'_Did you agree on that?'_ She asked as she lowered her head to the ground. '_On being changed like that?'_

'_It was necessary. My opinion is not important.'_

'_Even so, was it your wish? You never told me how you became a Spartan.'_

'_The Covenant had burned my world. The UNSC gave me a chance for revenge, which I took. And then I stopped caring for revenge. Vengeance is an emotional reaction, not a reason. I fight because I was needed…they augmented me because it was needed.'_

'_Did it hurt?'_

He clenched his fists slightly, remembering the excruciating pain of the augmentation procedure. How his marrows had felt like they had been made of glass, shattering in his breaking bones. How the injections had made his veins feel like they had been filled with napalm…pulsating, like they were being torn out of his flesh. '_Yes.'_

'_How old were you?'_

'_Old enough that I knew how to fight.'_

The dragon nuzzled his helmet with the tip of her nose just like Saphira had done. They had spoken about their almost childish rivalry back at the cliffs; Aeraleth and Saphira both fancied Glaedr. But the black dragoness was unsure whether those were actual feelings of love, or just the need to mate and breed for the sake of her race.

They grew silent and Maine saw that Daenlith was now carefully approaching them, keeping her voice impassive and her demeanor stoic. It was interesting that she was still required to keep an eye on him, but was not counted amongst those who knew of Oromis' existence. He needed to talk to the queen about that.

The Spartan quickly got to his feet. It was polite to be at equal heights with people when you talked to them, after all. Then he placed two fingers near his lips and greeted the elf using the term that he had been taught. He didn't think of himself as higher ranking or more important than she was right now.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Daenlith returned the courtesy. "Why did you do it?" She then asked with her rich, musical voice. Maine was certain that the elves used some kind of pheromone in their larynx or something similar to that, as most of their females sounded so…unsettlingly clear.

'_Remember Oromis´ task, ´_ Aeraleth reminded him in the Ancient Language. ´_Think, speak and dream in the elven language.´_

_´Only with other elves. In military engagements, normal human language is good enough. You didn't memorize those code-words for nothing.'_

"Did what?" he asked her in her language. When she questioningly raised an eyebrow, he told her that he had been asked to speak in the Ancient Language whenever possible.

"A good suggestion," she said and then reverted to her native speech too. "Why did you help Eragon?"

"Because he needed help," he softly replied .

"You gave it to him."

"As a Spartan, it is my duty to serve mankind. Whatever the cost."

Her eyes narrowed. "Only mankind?"

Uh-oh. "Where I came from, there are only humans. No elves, dwarves…dragons."

"You are not with your people now," Daenlith replied and walked past him, her long hair trailing after her. "You are a Rider. Keeper of peace…holder of justice." The sarcasm in her voice was not missed by him.

"And Spartan above all." There was no word for Spartan in elfish. It annoyed him.

The elf bowed her head. "You defeated Vanir in combat."

"So?"

"He is a young fool. Moderately gifted and inexperienced."

"You do not like him then?"

She straightened her back and looked away from Aeraleth again. It wasn't the first time that Maine thought that the two ladies had had conversations behind his back. "I treat him courteously and he me respectfully."

That was good to hear. Otherwise he would have paid the young elf a nightly visit. "That's not what I asked."

"And neither is it your business."

'_Where is your sharp tongue now?'_ Aeraleth teased him.

'_Hiding for when I need to insult someone important.'_

'…_that is not funny.'_

'_It is to me.' _To Daenlith, he asked: "Vanir is inexperienced?"

"Indeed. He has not yet lived past his thirtieth summer. It is considered impolite to talk about people who are not present. If you wish to know about him, leave my house…and go ask him."

There was a hidden meaning in her words, he was sure of that. "If you don't want me here…" She didn't finish his sentence for him, leaving an awkward gap for him to fill in. "…I can just leave."

"It would shame and dishonor me as a host to wish you away."

'_You only host me, little elf. If would be nobody's shame if you wished him away.'_

Daenlith did not respond. Maine understood that it was hard for her to tolerate his presence; after all, he would not want to anywhere near the so-called 'allies' that the Elites now were. Not after their ruthless slaughter of billions of good humans. But it had been the Forsworn who had destroyed her House and Hall, not him.

Not knowing what else to do, he tried to continue their conversation. "When is an elf considered mature?"

"Around their seventieth summer," Daenlith quietly replied, still standing with her back to him.

"And what do you consider humans?"

Now she did turn around, glaring at him with her yellow eyes. They looked similar to Aeraleth's. That made this so much harder, while it should have made it so much easier. "Depending on the elf you pose the question to…or the human you talk about…you may not hear anything positive."

She grew silent again and Maine ran out of ideas.

'_I see now that you are really bad at conversations even if I am there to guide you,'_ Aeraleth told him.

'_What did I do wrong?'_

'_She does not like you. Anything you say is likely to anger her.'_

'_Back to square one.'_

'_Not entirely. You are here…and she is here. Try to change it.'_

'_Easier said than done.'_

"Eragon and I were told to spar with elves each morning."

"So I witnessed."

"Eragon has Vanir." No reply.

'_Go on,'_ Aeraleth urged him.

"Will you train with me in the morning?"

Daenlith kept quiet for a long time and she averted her gaze again. She was staring at a white flower near the edge of the courtyard with a distant expression and the Spartan wondered if he had somehow insulted her.

Then she looked at him again and her expression was different; darker, more stoic than it had been before. "Such is not my place. The queen would not have it…and neither would your teacher."

"I really don't care for their opinion."

"You should," she replied sharply and then turned around to walk away. "For their wishes are for the best of our kind. You would not persuade them."

He looked at her figure while she walked away, looking upset. "Don't be so negative."

Daenlith stopped briefly, as her sensitive ears were likely to have heard that comment. But she chose to ignore it either way and soon, she had disappeared inside her house again.

* * *

"_With the construction of the UNSC Infinity, Humanity is rising quickly. No longer shall we be the bullied. We shall soon reach a point where we won't even need the old Spartans to fight for us –the II's, III's and the Two-Sierras. _

_Admiral Parangosky, one week after the Scattered event, pt. 2_


	17. Narrow views pt I

"_Takeo? What's wrong?"_

"_There is a woman scurrying around in Melian. She's been asking some of the soldiers about objects that have fallen from the sky…and people that are traveling through the empire in strange clothes, sir."_

"_Alright? Who was she?"_

"_No clue sir. The men seemed afraid of her…very afraid. They didn't know anything though."_

"_What did she look like? We might have to take her out if she knows too much."_

"_Sir. Red hair, black coat…nasty looking sword at her waist…pale skin."_

"_Sounds like a mercenary to me. Keep your eyes open."_

-Conversation between Captain Wren and Specialist Takeo, three days before Blood-oath Celebration

* * *

Arya sighed and placed her head on her arms. It had been five days since she had watched Eragon, Vanir and Spartan cross their blades on the field. Five days since she had taken the boy to one of the greater halls in Ellesméra and five days since her suspicions had been confirmed. Eragon was in love with her and it wasn't like she had suspected before; it was not a simple crush, or an infatuation that would blow over after a few days.

"_This is my favorite flower. Watch it blossom…"_

"_It is really beautiful…as are you."_

Foolish kid! Did he not know how much trouble he brought her? He should be focusing on his studies, not on her. She was an elf and he was a human!

_But he is not a human,_ an annoying voice in the back of her head whispered at her. _He is a Rider._

Rider he might be, Eragon was still a child; inexperienced, naïve and foolish. Elves barely chose humans as their mates and that was for a good reason; humans withered and died, while elves lived on. And even if the human was a rider or a magician, their state of mind was just too different. An elf and a human could _not _fit together. It was impossible.

The sun had settled and the stars had risen, but they granted her no distraction. She had initially wished for Eragon to be more mature, less naïve and childish. She had wished for him to become the Rider they all needed but…after she had spent so much time around the Spartan, she no longer wished the same. Her views had changed. Initially, the Spartan had seemed like everything her people needed from a Rider. He was familiar with warfare, intelligent with tactics and lethal in battle. But then, she had started to see the other things that defined him.

She took a deep breath and stared at the open window, where she could see Ellesméra lying open before her. Gripped by a sudden desire to leave her home and move freely, she jumped out of the opening in the wall and landed on the ground, several meters below. It was just another difference between an elf and a human; elves were physically superior. No human could ever hope to match the prowess of an elf…

…no human except for the Spartan, of course. Her view of him had deteriorated steadily with each passing day and she had honestly believed that the Rider had been completely devoid of empathy to all living beings around him. His consorting with a Shade had been one of many reasons for Arya to despise him and everything that he was. Clutched by the cold, painful terror of her memories she had been forced to conclude that demonic rider was a bigger threat to her people than Durza had ever been and she had taken it upon herself to make sure that the day that his true nature would surface would not bring harm to anyone.

Her life had not always been easy, but the past weeks had been harder on her than ever before. The torture at the hands of Durza, the painful interactions with the dwarves and the humans in Tronjheim and then the harsh journey spent with a boy who was more child than Rider and a human who was more demon than Rider had all been enormous sources of stress and pain.

Arya dashed past the various buildings and made for the edge of the forest, where she would be alone with her mind, without the entombing presence of houses and other elves

It was only because of a recent development that her opinion on the Spartan had changed. Faced with the injustice that her mother had wrought her, she had been having a particularly hard time dealing with her hardships. Memories and nightmares of her ordeal at the hands of Durza…the disgusting Shade. They had plagued her beyond what she had deemed possible, for she had not heard before of elves suffering from past events.

And then _he _had appeared. Like a shadow gliding away from underneath the trees, the faceless rider had approached her in the evening, away from all others.

For one ridiculous second, influenced by the dreadful memories of torture, she had feared that the Spartan had come to take her life.

But she had quickly banished that ridiculous thought and –not kindly- asked him why he had come to her.

And he had known. He had known that she was suffering from her past and he had spoken truthfully, from experience. Few elves knew it, but the Ancient Language was not the only way to ensure a truthful conversation. Certain things could not be spoken off without firsthand experience, just you could see the difference between a newcomer in war and a veteran of equal age. And the Spartan had had experience with torture…and he had helped her. He had spoken to her and told her how to deal with her traumas.

And then she had instinctively sought out Eragon instead of any other elf. For some reason she had actually wanted to be close to him, as if his presence could have comforted her. And the weird thing was that it actually had; the fact that she could talk to Eragon without having to fear the elf customs had been comforting to her.

And then he had confirmed her suspicious. It had been worse than watching the Spartan completely and utterly outfight a skilled elf warrior –worse than knowing that there was still a Shade out there, hunting Aeraleth and her rider down. If Eragon did not get his mind straight soon he would undermine their entire collective effort against Galbatorix.

She had so many things to ponder…and so little people to ask for their council. She had thought that she would feel better once she had gotten to her people again, but now she felt even worse. She just didn't trust enough people to truly feel like she was safe.

And trust was so hard to come by...

Arya stared longingly into the forest, suddenly feeling hesitant. Her mother had tried hard to make up for her past wronging…but on some level, Arya still hadn't forgiven her yet. Her time in Ellesméra was only being made worse by that tense relationship with her mother, so it wouldn't be logical to remain upset about it.

And yet…she didn't want to force herself to go through the painful experience of recalling everything that had happened to her by simply conversing with her kind like nothing had happened. Not only would it be too hard to commit herself to, it would also be wrong. She had suffered and her kind knew that. To act like nothing was wrong and change nothing in the ways of the elves would mean that her suffering had been for naught.

No…not for naught. Eragon was here, safe and well. By her continuing defiance she had allowed Saphira's egg to end up with a worthy Rider and by resisting against Durza, she had resisted against the King himself. And it was because of people resisting against Galbatorix that someone like Spartan had bonded with one of the few remaining dragons.

Despite everything that he had done and said in the past, Arya could see that he was truly capable of being a good Rider. Just like Eragon, he had a tight bond with his dragon. Like Eragon, the Spartan fought for those who couldn't fight for themselves. Only…that was where their similarities ended. Spartan was an extremely capable warrior, gifted enough to beat elves in single combat. He was disciplined and calm, but also completely accustomed to the idea of killing and maiming.

Being near him made her appreciate just how…human…Eragon was. Not that the Spartan wasn't a human too, as he could never have bonded to a dragon, but he was completely different from any humans she had seen during her time as an ambassador. There were times where she had wished for Eragon to let go of his youthful naivety and start developing into a warrior, but now…she wanted him to remain who he was, as his heart was pure and not yet tainted with the violence and pain that war could bring.

Arya shook her head and turned around, heading back to Ellesméra. She didn't want to see her mother, but neither did she want to avoid her. She wanted to verify whether their bond was still intact, but she did not know to which degree she was willing to go to do so. She was scared of the consequences of her own words, as Islanzadí was still her mother.

And despite the many years that they had been apart from each other, Arya still loved her mother dearly.

As she walked through the city, it became clear to her that the arrival of Riders had changed her home in more ways than one: people were gossiping. Actually gossiping. She could hear their quiet conversations hitting all sorts of sensitive subjects, which included Eragon, the Spartan and even some other elves whom Arya had not thought important to the two Riders.

_If my people are turning into this, _Arya thought, _Eragon and Spartan might not be safe anymore._

There was little she could do about it though, except for talking to her mother about it.

Everything pointed at her duty as an ambassador and her duty as a princess…but why was it that nothing was indicating her duty as a friend?

Thus Arya stood, rooted to the ground as her mind tried to come up with a sustainable solution to her emotional troubles.

Was she going to visit her mother…or would she visit Eragon?

_~0~_

Oromis returned to the hut, stepped through the black shadow of the doorway and then reappeared, carrying a half-dozen slate tablets about half a foot wide and a full foot high. He presented one to Eragon and one to Maine.

"Let us abandon the foul Ra'zac as our topic. I thought you two might enjoy learning how to make a fairth. It is an excellent device for focusing your thoughts."

"I would rather continue training, ebrithil."

"Be at ease, Spartan. You are tearing through my schedule like a dragon through a sheep. Eragon and I are not capable of working through several weeks' worth of material in mere days. For now, a fairth it is."

"Understood."

"Now, the slate is impregnated with enough ink to cover it with any combination of colours. All you need to do is concentrate upon the image that you wish to capture and then say: "Let that which I see in my mind's eye be replicated on the surface of this tablet". Lengthy, but worth it."

Maine looked aside and spotted Eragon doing the same.

"Look about you, and find something worth preserving."

As Eragon looked around the open area, the Spartan thought of at least a dozen things to preserve as an image. The image of a Grunt leaped into his mind; hunched, orange and barking in a high-pitched voice. It would do.

He uttered the spell and in fascination as the surface of the gray tablet brightened with splashes of color. The image of the grunt slowly came into view, but it was a slow process. First the iconic backpack appeared, then the crooked limbs and then finally the silly head with its gasmask. The image was blurry and messy though; the shades were all wrong, the head looked disproportionately big and a red gleam was spreading from the normally-orange backpack.

Maine waited until Eragon was done with his tablet (an image of a tree) and then Oromis signed with his hands, indicating that he wanted the fairths. The elf suited them for a minute before speaking. "You have an unusual method of concentrating, Eragon. You must relax, broaden your field of vision and allow yourself to absorb everything around you without judging what is important or not."

Setting aside the picture, Oromis observed Maine's. "What could this possibly be?"

"A Grunt. Lowest foot-soldiers of the Covenant, during the war."

"Do they usually shine like this?"

"Only when I ignite their backpacks, ebrithil. They breathe flammable gas."

"I see. Could it be that your emotions against your foe are distorting your view of them?"

Maine thought about the way he viewed the Grunts. Alone or in small groups, they were no threat. But he had seen the effect that a thousand of their numbers could wreak; the many unprepared soldiers they had overwhelmed and slaughtered. He didn't underestimate them, but neither did he see them as the warriors that Elites were.

"Perhaps."

"Well then. Step away from your judgment and view these beings like they are; living creatures that go about their daily lives."

Living grunts? Every time he looked at one or thought about one, he was plotting its death. How would that work?

Setting aside the pictures, Oromis took two new tablets and handed them out. "Try again with what I-"

"Hail, Riders!"

Maine immediately drew his sidearm and pointed it the source of the sound. He saw a dwarf, accompanied by two elves, emerging side by side from the forest. Orik, Arya and Daenlith. Why were they here? The dwarf raised his arm in a greeting and he was wearing a new tunic, probably courtesy of the elves.

He lowered his weapon. He had spoken to the queen the other day, asking her politely to give Daenlith permission to supervise his training like Arya and Orik could. Islanzadí had initially protested, but once he had raised the issue of the queen having assignment the elf as his escort, she had relented.

The trio approached them and Maine brought his fingers to his mouth, exchanging the traditional greeting with Daenlith. She gave him a small look of surprise –which might have been aimed at Oromis- then reverted back to her normal stoic appearance.

Oromis was puzzled. "To what may I attribute this visit? You are both welcome to my hut, but as you can see, I am in the midst of working with Eragon and Spartan and that is of paramount importance."

"I apologize for disturbing you, Oromis-elda," Arya replied, "but-"

"The fault is mine," Orik interrupted. He glanced at Eragon before continuing. "I was sent here by Hrothgar to ensure that Eragon receives the instruction he is due. I have no doubt that he is, but I am obliged to see his training with my own eyes so that when I return to Tronjheim, I may give my king a true account of events."

"That which I teach my students is not to be shared with anyone else. The secrets of the Riders are for them alone."

"And I understand that. However, we live in uncertain times. The stone that one was fixed and solid is now unstable. We must adapt to survive. So much depends on Eragon and Spartan, we dwarves have a right to verify that his training proceeds as planned. Do you believe our request is an unreasonable one?"

"Well spoken, Master dwarf," Oromis replied. He tapped his fingers together and then carefully answered "May I assume then, that this is a matter of duty for you?"

"Duty and honor."

Seriously? That crap again?

"And neither will you yield on this point?"

"I fear not, Oromis-Elda."

"Very well. You may stay and watch for the duration of this lesson. Will that satisfy you?."

Orik frowned, indicating that something was amiss. "Are you near the end of your lesson?"

"We have just begun."

"Then yes, I will be satisfied."

Maine saw how Eragon was trying to create some eye-contact with Arya, but the elf kept her gaze solely aimed at Oromis. As did Daenlith. Was she so fascinated with the elf Rider? Or was she mad at him for dragging her into the training thing?

"…Eragon, Spartan!"

Maine resisted the instinctive urge to salute and Eragon jumped. "Yes, master?" the boy asked.

"Don't wander, students. I need you two to make another fairth. Keep your minds open, like I told you before."

"Ebrithil."

"Yes master."

As Eragon hefted the tablet, Maine tried to think of something that wouldn't be negatively influenced by his opinion. It had to be something he liked…something that would never turn to something bad in his mind, while still being important to him.

And then he thought of Aeraleth. She was important to him, always supportive and beautiful to boot. A lethal bringer of death and his best friend.

That was ten times better than a Grunt.

He brought up an image of her in his mind and muttered the words for the spell, making sure that it was imbued with how he felt. For the first time in a long while, he felt satisfied. He was in a place where few people would attack him, he had someone he cared about and he had something that he could train himself with. It was the closest he could feel to being 'happy'

The resulting image was evidence for him being 'happy'. It was an image of Aeraleth, depicted against a red and sandy background. Her scales were covered in red, human blood and there were several scattered fires burning behind her. But her expression, anthropomorphistic as he might be interpreting it, was also happy. She had her eyes closed in satisfaction and she was nuzzling the head of Spartan, who in turn was holding her snout in his hands.

Intriguing…and worrying. He didn't want to grow too attached to Aeraleth, as her loss would seriously cripple him if he did so. If the UNSC were to find this world, he would have to leave her. If he cared too much for her, he wouldn't want to leave her. But the truth was that she needed him more than the UNSC did. Perhaps, once the war was over, he could find a way to mix both parties? Peace between Alagaesia and the United Nations Space Command? That would be the best solution.

He looked aside again and eyed Eragon's fairth. It held a picture of Arya's head and shoulders against a dark background. It looked rather exotic.

Oromis gestured with one hand and Maine, after a moment of hesitation, handed his fairth to him.

The elf eyed the image for half a minute and then smiled. It was a warm, compassionate smile. "Excellent, Spartan. Very excellent. This gladdens me." Then he handed the fairth to Daenlith, as both she and Arya had walked closer to then. As she examined the image, Oromis spoke up again. "Eragon? What have you wrought?"

"I…I don't know…" Eragon said with hesitation as Oromis extended his hand for the fairth. After a long pause, the kid handed his picture to the elf.

Oromis' expression grew stern as he looked at the fairth, then back at Eragon, who started looking very nervous. Without a word, Oromis handed the tablet to Arya. Was there something wrong? Did elves not like being drawn in a picture? Had Eragon somehow insulted someone?

Arya's hair obscured her face as she bowed over the tablet, but her hands clenched to such a degree that the fairth shook in her grip. She was upset about something.

"Well? What is it?" Orik asked.

She lowered her head, took a deep breath and then hurled the fairth to the ground, shattering the picture completely. Maine winced at the loud noise and watched as the elf drew herself upright and walked past Eragon with too much dignity to be natural.

What just happened?

Orik picked up one of the fragments of the slate. It was blank, as the image had vanished when the tablet broke. "In all the decades I've known her, Arya has never lost her temper like that. Never. What did you do, Eragon?"

"A portrait of her," Eragon softly said.

"A portrait? Why would that-"

"I think it would be best if you left now," Oromis said. "The lesson is over for now, in any case. Come back tomorrow or the day after it if you want a better idea of made progress."

"Yes…I believe I'll do that. Thank you for your time, Oromis-elda. I appreciate it." Turning back to leave, he whispered to Eragon: "I'll be in the common room of Tialdari Hall, if you want to talk."

Together, Orik and Daenlith left again. The silver-haired female threw one odd glance at Maine before the woods swallowed them and once more, Maine felt like he didn't understand a damn thing about the world.

Oromis started gathering the shattered pieces as Eragon sat there with a sad expression, his shoulders drooped and his jaw clenched.

"Why?" He asked.

"Perhaps," Oromis replied, "Arya was frightened by you."

Why would that be?

"Frightened? She never gets…I mean…I don't…why would I frighten her? Please, tell me."

Oromis stood and walked to the edge of the stream, where he scattered the fragments of the slate over the bank, letting the gray pieces trickling through his fingers.

"Fairths only show what you want them to. You can lie with them, but that is above your skill. Arya knows this…and more. She knows that you feel for her."

Eragon felt for Arya? What would he feel for her then, if not worry? But Arya was not damaged. Did he feel something else for her?

"Why would that frighten her?"

Oromis smiled sadly. "Because it represents the depth of your infatuation. Let us analyze the situation, shall we Eragon? In the eyes of the elves, you are no more than a child. Normally, I would not compare a human's age to an elf's, but since you share our longevity you must also be judged by our standards. Not only that, but you are also a Rider. It would be disastrous for everyone in Alagaesia if you are distracted from your studies."

"But there are two riders," Maine slowly said, now feeling completely lost. "Three if you count you. He's just a kid; if he gets distracted, I'll take over."

"This is very kind of you, Spartan, but you have just entered our problem. Eragon is a child and Arya is an adult. Not only is he important for our future, he is also too young. Eragon, you see Arya in romantic light. And while I am sure that she is terribly fond of you, a union between the two of you is impossible due to your youth, race, culture and responsibilities."

Maine didn't know a thing about romance, but that last statement was utter stupidity. "Age, I get. But race and culture? Isn't a more diverse genetic preferable?"

Oromis sighed. "Spartan, this is not a matter of spreading your heritage. There are bridges to cover…so many of them. Arya is a princess, an elf and an adult. Eragon is a Rider, a human and a child. She cannot answer his calls, for she will fear disrupting his training. But neither can she ignore him and risk offending a Rider. Even if Eragon were a fit mate for her, Arya would refrain from encouraging a relationship so that he could devote all his energy to the task at hand. She would sacrifice her happiness for the greater good."

But soldiers always sacrificed their happiness for the greater good. Why did Oromis make it sound like that was a bad thing? "Then we kill Galbatorix and get this problem out of the way."

"I agree, slaying Galbatorix is more important than anything else. Nothing else matters. But…Eragon…given the circumstances, is it so strange that Arya was frightened by your feelings for her?"

Eragon shook his head. This was all such a mess; if Eragon had kept his mind clear, this would have never happened. On the other hand…people had emotions. Not many could banish those emotions. Few could even ignore them. People did stupid things.

Oromis gently guided Eragon back inside the hut. "Think not that I am devoid of sympathy, Eragon. Everyone experiences ardor like you…or so I hope…at one point during their lives. It is part of growing up."

Is that a part of growing up? Maine had never experienced it.

"Yes master."

Oromis laid out some more writing materials for Eragon to practice the Ancient Language. "It would be unreasonable of me to expect you to forget your feelings for Arya, but I do expect you to prevent it from interfering with my instructions again. Can you promise me that?"

Yes Master, I promise."

"And Arya? What are you going to do about her predicament?"

Eragon's reply came at once. "I will apologize to her. I don't want to lose our friendship. I will reassure her that I never wanted her so much hardship."

"Then go to her, Eragon, and make sure that you are completely focused on your training when you have done so. Come back tomorrow. Spartan? You will stay here."

Eragon nodded and jumped to his feet. "Thank you Master." And then he was gone, leaving Maine alone with Oromis.

The aged elf carefully polished a shiny instrument, not looking at the Spartan while he did. "Do you know what it feels like, Spartan, to be young and in love? To have your waking dreams haunted by the image of he or she whom you adore with your heart?"

"No," he bluntly replied.

Oromis raised an eyebrow in that oddly human gesture. "What about Aeraleth, then? Your fairth proves to me that you care deeply about her." He grabbed a nearby mug and poured himself some tea. "Unless you were untruthful, of course."

"No." Putting it like that, Oromis was right. Aeraleth had 'haunted' his dreams and he did 'adore' her. "I care about Aeraleth." And he had regretted seeing Daenlith leave his presence again, as much as he had liked seeing her be there. But he wasn't yet ready to admit something like that. His feelings regarding his dragon were complicated enough.

"I understood that much from your fairth. And the reason that Daenlith was welcomed here?"

"Islanzadi-"

"Queen Islanzadí, Spartan."

"-has ordered her to be my escort in Ellesméra; to keep an eye on me."

"Understandable."

"She can't do that if she doesn't know where I am half the time."

"Is that why you went to the queen? Because you felt like making Daenlith's task easier?"

Maine hesitated. "Mostly, yes. I also needed someone to spar with, but she refused. Said it wasn't her position."

At that, Oromis was surprised. "You needed someone to spar with? What of Vanir and the other elves? Surely you have not forgotten about them?"

Yes…those guys…Maine had only sparred with Vanir twice. Once to put him in his place and once to test his own skill with a sword. After two minutes of simple parrying maneuvers –he had had to keep himself from disarming his foe immediately- he had gotten the feel of the blade. Things got dull and repetitive after that. His MJOLNIR made him many times stronger and faster than any elf could hope to be and the only way for a foe to overcome that was superior techniques. Maine's opponent had not had that.

"They were unskilled, ebrithil."

Oromis sighed. "Unskilled they were not. If you wish to challenge yourself, create the challenge. Take off your armour –I dislike having you come here prepared for war instead of learning anyway- and think of something to make matters difficult for yourself."

Take off his suit? Preposterous. He would be vulnerable to hostile attacks, he would be unable to move fast enough should he need to take action and…he would be vulnerable. "I am challenging myself. Hence Daenlith and not those kids."

"Most of them are at least two times older than you are, Spartan."

"Whatever." He thought about the silly situation between Eragon and Arya and how a relationship between humans and elves was supposed to be hard. "How old is Arya precisely?"

Oromis looked at him with a skeptical expression. "Wherein lays your curiosity, young Rider?"

"Eragon is sixteen…a child. But elves take longer to mature."

"Correct."

"Is Arya considered mature?"

Much to his surprise and frustration, Oromis started to laugh. "For all your experience in war and combat, you sound like a child when it comes to everything beyond those matters. Yes, Arya is mature. As she has been the Varden's ambassador for over seventy years, how can she not be?"

That was true. But there was a problem with the whole 'century age difference' thing that the elves had going on. A problem that Oromis himself had touched recently: logic. You could substitute any lack of experience with logic thinking and a certain state of mind. But that problem was also Eragon's problem: the boy was in no way logical, or even mature.

Maine didn't know why he was giving the elf-human relationship thing so much thought. Oromis had explained that Riders generally lived for an indefinite time due to the changes that their bond with a dragon made, so he guessed that it was because he was now closer to the issue than before. He hadn't been upset about hearing that his body had been changed like that, as a longer time to live meant a longer period during which he could serve mankind. He was no use to anyone dead. As long as the changes stayed put at that point, he could deal with it. "How old is Daenlith?"

"She is of Arya's age; around a century old. I believe she has recently reached her ninety-seventh summer. If you wish to spar with her, she does not need my consent."

The Spartan nodded. Oromis fell silent for a while, before he suddenly looked at him with a weary expression. "You learn at a rate I had deemed impossible, Spartan. While both you and Eragon are my pupils, I feel like I would be restricting your learning if I subjected you to the schedule I had in mind for the both of you. What remains for you now is to learn and master the finer arts of gramarye and what remains for me is to test the extent of your abilities."

"How do you mean?"

"I want to know what you are physically capable of. I do not mean testing your skill with the blade," Oromis quickly added, "but I mean the extent of your body. Your strength, your speed, your reaction time. I also want to measure your body without your armour, as I wish to know what your fighting style is.

Again? Why would Oromis want him to be outside of his armour? It made no sense. Of course, he was relatively safe in Ellesméra so he shouldn't worry about being attacked…and he could always create a ward to defend himself against magical attacks.

But he didn't want to his armour off and that was it. "Taking my armour off is counterproductive to my abilities."

Oromis didn't immediately accept Maine's unwillingness, but he did come to understand that it was futile to argue and eventually, he dropped the topic altogether. With Eragon gone, the two of them were free to up the scale of the training and handle topics that would have otherwise been too much to handle. These were topics like the imbuing of items with magical energy, maximizing your own energy efficiency and even killing with a single word.

However, it turned out that Maine was already very capable of doing so, as he even thought of a few ways to use magic in a fight that not even Oromis had thought of. Mankind's superior knowledge of biology, chemistry and physics would allow them to think of ways to utilize magic that not even the wisest elf could think of and despite his lack of non-war related knowledge, he was still perfectly capable of figuring out how to kill a group of enemy's without wasting more energy than it took lifting an eyebrow.

He spent the rest of the day alternating between writing, practicing magic and silently sharing his new Intel with Aeraleth. Her own training with Saphira and Glaedr proceeded regardless of Eragon's departure. Because of their link –which was steadily growing stronger due to his increasing willingness to share his mind with her- he got to watch as Glaedr put her and Saphira through an exercise regimen that was impressively strict. Aeraleth had to practice all kinds of maneuvers that seemed to defy the limits of her body. She had to dive and roll and sprint and climb while carrying heavy loads and dodging enemy fire and because of her inability to breathe fire of her own, Glaedr had to compensate for that too. The two female dragons were taught about the original dragons' lives and history, which seemed too augment Aeraleth's already instinctual knowledge. The problem was that most of the things that his bonded partner learned was conveyed to her in such a way that she had to use all of her senses to understand it; smell, sight and even hearing.

Eventually, when the sun was about to set, Oromis decided that he needed more time to create a new schedule. For now, Maine was dismissed.

He waited for Aeraleth to join him and then the two of them left again. The dragon's unnatural growth had slowed down to a certain degree; now she seemed to grow at a pace that was –according to Glaedr- befitting of a normal dragon.

'_Why did Eragon leave?'_ Aeraleth asked him on their way back.

'_Because he pressured Arya by being in love with her.'_

'…_what?'_

'_Apparently, he was in love with her. And that is bad. So now she is upset. And he wishes to apologize.'_

'_For being in love?'_

'_For being a love-sick puppy that can't overcome his crush.'_

'_That is a rather negative portrayal of love.'_

'_He was rather love-sick.'_

'_I see. What do you wish to do tonight, anyway?'_

'_Why do you keep asking me that?'_

'_If I do not, you will hide yourself inside of your tree and not show yourself to anyone. We are with the elves now. With the way they treat us, we can do anything we want to.'_

'_You mean you can do anything you want. They get scared whenever I approach.'_

'_Which is still the same to me.'_

'_Fine.'_

They made their way past the cliffs to the open meadow where they had first met Oromis, heading towards the road that led towards Ellesméra. It was not until they had reached the great hall where the queen resided that Maine actually thought about something he wanted to do. He had been thinking about the whole 'star origin' thing that had the elves running scared. He had remembered some old guy from Furnost who had been pretty clear that the stars were important things, so it wasn't as if it was a racial thing. He wanted to find out more about that problem.

But first he wanted to go see Daenlith. To check up on her and see if everything was alright. When he presented that idea to Aeraleth though, she laughed loudly and scared the crap out of a nearby elf, who then promptly bowed to her and muttered "shadow scales".

Kiss ass.

'_You want to see if an elf is alright in the city of elves? Maine, the elves have based their culture around courtesy to prevent arguments from arising. Nobody is going to harm anyone here.'_

'_Half correct. Courtesy to avoid argument is fine, unless one considers courtesy moot. We have already seen that there are many different ways to view things to the elves.'_

'_If you mean the group of elves you majestically beat a few days back…'_

'_I mean everyone. The queen, the princess, the smith, the teacher, the younglings, everyone sees matters in a different way.´_

_´And this endangers her…how?'_

'_It is obvious that few people hold respect for her. They could make moves against her as we speak.'_

'_You are being paranoid, little soldier. She has been fine the last few days, why not now?'_

'_Because the Forerunner building doesn't open for me.'_

'…_I lost your reasoning.'_

He drew his sidearm and moved towards Daenlith's house, making sure to check the windows without actually crossing directly in front of them.

'_Mankind has always had a strange link with Forerunner tech. If this Forerunner building doesn't work for me, something is very wrong.'_

'_And Daenlith is in danger because of this?'_

'_It's a possibility that we can't ignore.'_

'_We? I am not worried about her wellbeing.'_

'_I thought you liked her?'_

'_I do. I just don't worry, as I believe there is no reason for her to be in any danger.'_

He made his way to the front of the building and took up a position near the door.

'_There is no reason for you to act like this, you do realize that?'_

'_You're probably right,'_ he replied as he flicked the safety off. '_But I haven't encountered an enemy presence in over a week now.'_

'_So you are bored?'_

'_Restless.'_

'_So you are going to infiltrate Daenlith's house because you feel restless?'_

'_Not infiltrate. Scout.'_

Before Aeraleth had the chance to reply, someone called out to them in the ancient language.

"Spartan, what are you doing scurrying around my home?"

Maine jerked around to see Daenlith standing next to a tree, glaring at him with an inscrutable expression. He was satisfied to see that, even though she was armed, she didn't think him to be her enemy by actually pointing her weapon at him.

He remembered to carry out the formal elf greeting and then tried his best to formulate words. "I...wanted to check up on you."

She looked at him skeptically. "_You _wanted to check up on me? What for?"

He shifted uncomfortably from his left feet to his right. "To see if you were alright." Perhaps he should have thought it through from the beginning. Aeraleth was right; there was absolutely no reason for her to be not alright, but it was just that Ellesméra was so _weird_. Everyone behaved so formally and courteously and everyone had magic. He just couldn't bring himself to feel comfortable at any time. And Oromis wanted him to take his armour off? It wasn't going to happen.

At least, not around anyone who wasn't Aeraleth. If and _if _he was going to take his MJOLNIR off, it would be in the middle of the night to ride her.

Instead of glaring at him like he was an idiot –which he thought wouldn't be far off the mark- Daenlith's skepticism changed into curiosity.

"Why would you care?" She asked with honest surprise.

Why did he care? Why was she more important to him than Arya or Eragon were? He knew that he preferred her company above the company of others because of her no-nonsense attitude…and…well, he also felt considerably more comfortable around her than he felt with the likes of Oromis or Glaedr. Perhaps it was because Daenlith was much more of an outcast among the elves than the others were that he felt like being near her? He had consigned to stay in Ellesméra for a while and Aeraleth had told him to make the best out of his stay.

He had no idea why he cared. It was time to change the rules; go on the offensive instead of staying on the defensive. "I'm not like the people here."

'_Is that the best you can come up with?'_

'_Be quiet.'_

Daenlith pulled that odd elven gesture where she turned her head somewhat sideways. "How do you mean?"

'_Is it so hard to admit your feelings?' _Aeraleth saw fit to point out. '_It's obvious that you like her.'_

_´I don't like her.´_

_´Oh?'_

'_At least, not like that.´_ He made a mental note to ask someone for the broader definitions of liking someone and then reminded himself to reply verbally to Daenlith. "I don't need a reason to see if someone is safe."

"You wanted to confirm my safety?"

Maine could kick himself. "Yes," he replied, feeling more stupid than he had ever felt in Alagaesia. _This _was what happened when he was outside of the battlefield. He grew restless and paranoid and he would make mistakes that would make working with someone that much more difficult. It was because of things like this that made him stay away from UNSC personnel that were assigned to the ship that carried him from one destination to another.

The elf averted her eyes. "I see. How proceeds your training?"

Sudden change of topic? Alright, he could go with that. After all, he had gotten the queen so far as to give Daenlith permission to know about the 'Mourning sage'. He should have expected questions about his training. "Oromis wants to test my body."

"…I think I will need more context to understand your true meaning."

He nodded. "He wants to know the limits of my capabilities…strength, speed and the likes."

"Will that be a problem then?"

Hesitating again, he tried to find the words he needed to properly convey his words. "He wants me to take my armour off."

Daenlith looked around and then softly rubbed her left shoulder with her right hand. She still refused to look him in his…visor. "Let us continue this conversation somewhere else, Spartan."

"Fine. Why?"

"Because," she slowly replied, "the queen has been looking for you. She was very…adamant on having me tell you this."

He nodded, understanding her doubt. Islanzadí did not seem to like Daenlith very much and to the elves, this probably a big deal.

"Why is taking off your armour unpleasant for you?"

"Because I feel naked without it," he replied without properly thinking it through. A second later, he felt foolish for diverging personal information to someone who…actually, Daenlith was not the type of person to abuse that information. Nevertheless he had not meant to actually share something about himself with someone else, let alone an elf.

"Naked? How so?" Daenlith asked as the two of them walked through the city. Aeraleth had disappeared halfway through their little trip, saying that she had gone hunting.

"I-" he realized that the elves around them were all in possession of long pointy ears and he did not want any of them to overhear their conversation. Where was Aeraleth when he needed her? "It's personal. Can we…?"

"Can we what, Spartan?"

It sounded awfully formal when she called him Spartan. "Continue this conversation mentally?"

Daenlith stopped abruptly. "That is a profoundly intimate way of communicating, if you weren't aware of that." She said through clenched teeth.

"I wasn't. My apologies." They remained silent after that, although Maine tried to think of something that could restart the conversation. It wasn't often considered socially acceptable to cancel dialogue with a glaring mistake. Why hadn't Oromis told him that? That mental communication was considered intimate? He had such communication all the time with Aeraleth! Did she consider it intimate?

"Why did Islanzadí want to see me?" He asked after a few minutes of silence.

The elf didn't correct his method of naming the queen. "Why would the royal family see fit to inform me of their intentions?"

"Because they assigned you as my escort. They should inform you of their intents regarding me…should they not?" They were approaching the hall where the queen was supposed to reside now. It was getting late and the amount of elves they encountered was decreasing steadily.

Daenlith remained silent as they entered the building and Maine was starting to think that these elves and their wonderful courteous attitude had plenty of problems with each other. He found himself inside a green and overgrown hall and he saw Arya walking down one of the corridors.

"Arya," he barked. His elven escort winced as he raised his voice, but Arya turned around briefly enough to spot him. She did _not _look amused. Several other elves stared at him, but he ignored them.

"What is it you seek, Spartan?" She asked.

"Where is queen Islanzadí?"

"Ah, I see. Enter the hall to your right; you will find her there." Then she left again. She seemed like she was in a hurry.

"Thank you." He looked at Daenlith and saw that she too looked very unamused.

"Your manners are abysmal," she hissed at him. "You do not approach the princess like that!"

"I don't have time for respectful manners each time I encounter an elf," he replied as he turned to enter the hallway that Arya had pointed out to him.

"You don't seem to have that problem with me."

"That's different," he replied.

"How so?"

"It's a matter of respect…and a lack of it."

"Do not insinuate that you deem me worthy of more respect than Arya-Dröttningu and Islanzadí-Dröttning. It is insulting."

He looked at her over his shoulder. She was taller than most marines, as most elves were. "I don't insinuate. I say." As it was the ancient language, she knew that it had to be the truth. She remained silent once more after that, but that might as well have been because he opened the nearest door and found queen Islanzadí sitting around a table with several armed elves who appeared to be armed as well.

"Queen Islanzadí," he said and brought his fingers to his mouth. "You wished to see me?"

It was obvious that they had been in a conversation with each other, but the queen stood and looked at him. And then she looked at Daenlith. The elven lords who had been sitting with her were very quiet, so they probably knew that this had to be important.

"Spartan," she said. It was a statement, not a greeting. "Can you explain to me why Gilderien the Wise wanted you to seek him out on the day after the Agaeti Blödhren?" She looked upset. Seriously so. Had he done something wrong again?

Gilderien the Wise was the elf person who guarded the way into the forest. The Agaeti Blödhren was a collection of the words blood, swear and festival. So gibberish, in short. "No."

The elf lords started whispering to each other and the queen was starting to look angry now. "Never before has Gilderien asked for someone to meet him. Not in my long time as a queen in Ellesméra. And then you appear, fallen from the stars themselves. And now he asks for _you. _What did you do?"

He was starting to feel uncomfortable now. Islanzadí wasn't acting like a threat, so he couldn't engage her. But neither was she acting like a friendly and there was nothing he could do to assist her. He wanted Aeraleth to be there; to help him deal with this.

When he didn't answer directly, the queen turned to face Daenlith instead. "I asked you to watch Spartan, Daenlith Alfa-kona. Did you not fulfill your task?"

His discomfort turned to anger within half a second and he stepped closer to the queen, who stood higher than most non-Spartans did. All of his frustration and problems from the past few days resurfaced, along with a different emotion he could not identify. "She was not informed of my teacher, in contrast to some unimportant brats."

One of the elf lords scowled. "Rider or not, you are talking to our queen. Show some respect!"

He ignored that comment even as the queen's eyes narrowed in a way that closely resembled Arya. "I have led my people for more than a century. Even a Rider like yourself needs to watch his tongue, lest he harms himself. I make my decisions based on the years of experience that, for all your time spent murdering other beings, you do not possess."

It didn't take a general to see Islanzadi's faults. Maine knew that he was being rude and he did not care. Daenlith had shrunken back from the collective anger from both the queen as the Spartan and she carefully tried to fix their conflict. "Peace, Spartan. Islanzadí-Dröttning has her reasons and I do not doubt her for a second-"

He ignored her too. His anger had reached a point where it was being very hard to retain a reasonable and rational point of view in matters. "Ask Gilderien yourself instead of threatening _me_."

Islanzadí stared at him for a little longer, before her expression eased up. Instead of looking furious, she now looked exhausted –just like Oromis had. "Logic, Spartan. You and I both seem to lack it at the moment. It is a rare occasion when Gilderien wishes to speak with someone…and it has never occurred that he has asked for a specific moment. The tides are turning rapidly in Alagaesia…and I feel like Eragon and you are right in the middle of it. Let us agree to continue this argument later, shall we?"

He nodded. He shouldn't have given in to his frustration so easily, but he had a feeling that Islanzadí constantly seemed to alternate between treating him like an unruly child and an international criminal. Just what had they been talking about? Why did they not consider him a simple Rider, like they considered Eragon? "Ma'am."

With that, he turned around and left the room. Daenlith did not waste a single second and followed him so fast that she nearly bumped into him when he rounded the corner. When the two of them were a good distance away from other elf-ears besides her own, she started talking again. But this time she sounded more shaken than unamused. Unless those two meant the same thing regarding females. "I have never seen anyone talk to the queen like that. Were you looking for swift punishment?"

"Someone should have," he replied as he led the way to the deserted barracks that served as his home.

"Spartan," Daenlith snapped at him and she ceased his arm –a physical reaction that Maine tried to ignore. "Even though she might have acted unreasonable, there was no reason for you to lash out at her like that!"

"She insulted you."

"She merely told me that I hadn't fulfilled my assignment."

"Because of _her _restrictions. And then she threatened me." He looked over his shoulder and saw that the silver-haired girl had stopped following him. She was standing with her hands on her hips, looking incredulous.

"Do you truly not know how you should behave around the royal House?" She asked him softly.

"No," he replied. Expecting her to lecture him, he swiftly added: "And neither do I care."

But she did not lecture him. "You said you felt naked without your armour. Why is that?"

In what abstract mind were 'royal manners' and 'naked without armour' linked like that? "Because…" come to think of it, his reason was rather stupid. "Because I am not comfortable around people…glaring…moving…I can't properly deal with that."

"And your armour helps you?"

"In a way."

"It sounds like a obstacle that should be taken away."

"You sound like my teacher."

"I shall take that as a compliment, then."

He looked at the direction he needed to go to get back to his barracks, where no elf should be able to disturb him. He longed to be alone with his thoughts, especially seeing as he wasn't in the most rational state of mind right now. But this was the first time that he was having a conversation that he did not immediately want to abort.

Choosing to side with his curiosity for the moment, Maine asked: "What is an Agaeti Blodren?"

"The Agaeti Blödhren," Daenlith corrected him, "named 'blood-oath celebration' in your tongue, is a commemoration of the pact formed between the elves and the dragons at the end of Du Fyrn Skulblaka."

"Commemoration?"

"Celebration, memorial, service…" She looked around and then gestured to the path that led to the barracks. "Shall we continue this conversation in your home?"

This was the first time that Daenlith was having a conversation with him that she didn't want to abort too, most likely. "Sure."

While they slowly walked down the overgrown path that seemed to teem with flowers and other forms of flora, the elf explained how the elves had warred with the dragons in the past. How the war would have resulted in the destruction of both raves, had they not stopped it.

"And then a young elf called 'Eragon' found an unguarded dragon. Whether its parents had left it there on purpose or not never became clear, but he did keep it. The two of them formed an inseparable bond and, when the dragon was strong enough, the two of them travelled across Alagaesia to act as negotiators between the dragons and the elves."

"Eragon?" Maine asked. They reached the barracks in the trees, but they did not enter it. Instead, Daenlith chose to sit against the base of the tree. He chose to remain standing.

"Yes. The human Rider has a powerful name, do you not agree?"

The Spartan knew that everything had a true name in the ancient language, so he couldn't neccesarily disagree with that. "Coincidence?"

"Perhaps. But seeing as Eragon the first managed to end the war between his kind and the dragons', resulting in the first Dragon Riders, I do hope that fate has chosen well."

Fate…yeah right. There was no such thing as fate. Still, that wasn't the topic of their conversation "And the Blood-oath celebration?"

"Every hundred years, our kind remembers the end of Du Fyrn Skulblaka with the celebration. It will be my first time witnessing it…I was always told that it was beautiful to behold."

"How so?"

She looked at a purple flower, her silvery hair obscuring her face. "Elves from places all around Du Weldenvarden visit Ellesméra to take part. It is one of the few occasions where we can completely, utterly separate our bonds with the world."

"All around the forest?" He had seen more elves today than he had seen before, but still.

"Yes. Soon, elves will be arriving by the dozens to prepare for such a monumental event. Of course, they will also wish to meet the Riders and dragons who are residing in Ellesméra."

"Meet?"

"Of course. They view it an honour to meet one such as you or Eragon."

"I'm not going to shake hands with dozens of elves."

She looked at him with that same odd expression he had spotted on her face a few times before. "Unless you wish to skip the Blood-oath celebration completely, I fear you have no choice in that matter. You are a Rider and you reside in our city."

That settled it then. He would skip that celebration. The elf remained silent as he contemplated the things that Islanzadí had told him; about Gilderien and the stars…something just didn't fit with her erratic attitude. But what was it? And why had he felt the desire to stick up for his escort when the queen had doubted her duty? Being in the elven city did strange things with his mind. It could be his bond with Aeraleth, or the magic that permeated the forest, but he was also starting to act uneven. His problems seemed to be growing worse.

After a good fifteen minutes had gone by, Daenlith elegantly got back on her feet and bid him goodbye.

"Wait," his mouth was just a bit faster than his brain. The elf looked at him questioningly and he quickly tried to think of something to say. "If Vanir knew of the 'mourning sage' being Eragon's teacher, why didn't the queen want you to know too? You're more important than he is."

"You give me too much credit, Spartan," Daenlith quietly replied and turned her back to him. "Vanir, being of a prominent House, was chosen to be Eragon's partner in practice. I was chosen to be your escort for Ellesméra, which can hardly compare to his task. Islanzadí-Dröttning knows who to choose for the proper task."

With that strange remark, the elven lady left his presence. He stared at her all the way until she disappeared into one of the barely-noticeable paths that led to the edge of the city. Like all the other elves, she seemed to walk with a certain form of dignity that most humans lacked; her head held high and her shoulders relaxed. She was also swaying her hips as she walked, giving her body a natural rhythm that Maine had not spotted before. It made watching her move that much more fascinating, though Maine did not understand why that was.

He shook his head and then used his stupidly complicated method to enter his barracks, where he waited for Aeraleth to return. He had a lot of things to tell her.

He was thankful for mental communication though, as he was starting to feel his throat ache from all the talking he did recently.


	18. Narrow views pt II

"_He needs a full psychiatric rehabilitation, not a pat on the head! Even Spartans can't handle that kind of stress and trauma!"_

"_With respect Miss Sunfield, his wounds are not lethal. The chemical burns can be treated with some old medical plans and the bullets were deflected by his bones-"_

"_I wasn't talking about physical traumas, Colonel. Did you hear the mission report? I heard that most soldiers left the room when the narration started and those were considered veterans-"_

"_I did not leave the room, Sunfield. The mission was a success and now, more than ever, he needs to know that this wasn't anything abnormal."_

"_Abnormal? For Christ's sake sir, the traumas that this can yield should it not be treated-"_

"_-are nothing compared to what we win, if we do not let him think this was important. Need I remind you that the entire Spartan program holds the same ethical proportions?"_

"_That is not the same, Colonel."_

"_It is to him. Dismissed."_

_-Conversation between Mental Health Specialist Sunfield and Colonel Ackerson, after Pyrrhic victory at Chi Ceti IV -2548._

* * *

Captain Adrian Wren calmly eyed the group of horse riders that was now entering the city. Aberon, as it was called, was the capital city of the country known as Surda, which supported the rebel Varden. Seeing as the Empire was now openly hunting him and his men, word might have gotten to Surda too. If anyone in Surda knew of them, it would be the nobles in Aberon. Still he didn't like this situation one bit. Aberon was positioned on a bluff, surrounded by open plains. It was enclosed by three thick walls, which included many towers. It looked very secure and in a time of unruly problems and freedom-fighters, an unruly city would be the most dangerous place for them to be. And since Mason and Takeo had found out that the majority of the armies stationed around the city were in fact with the Varden, it added another problem to their already large list of problems. Who was in charge of the Varden and where was that person?

That was why he was reluctant to send his people in. He really wanted to meet the king of Surda, named Orrin, as he would know who was in charge of the Varden, but he just couldn't trust him. Even though Wren was trained in diplomatic relations, he had his doubts about the hospitality of these people and he didn't want to lose anyone on this godforsaken planet.

"Corporal, Flight officer, on me."

"Sir!" Hudson and Allison snapped.

"Might I ask where we are going sir?" Corporal Hudson asked. It wasn't really a strange question; they had been stuck in Alagaesia for weeks now and they had set up camp near the perimeter of Aberon.

"I'm going to secure a meeting with the king here," then Captain replied. "We need to know what we are up against."

"Sir," Mason said, "is that a good idea? For all we know, these people want to deliver us to the Empire for money."

"It won't get to that, Lieutenant," Wren replied. "The rest of you will take up tactical positions around the city and get ready for combat. Our primary goal is to get back in contact with the UNSC, but we can't do a thing without the dropship. So we find where the Spartan is, fight the sentinels off and get back to the ship. We'll wait at the Destroyer for reinforcements."

The soldiers saluted him and he beckoned for the two soldiers to follow him. He had chosen Corporal Hudson, despite the man's rather unique attitude, for one simple reason. Hudson saw things that the rest of them didn't. He spotted snipers, hostile movements and even infiltrating units that would otherwise cripple their unit .When moving in enemy territory, that was the sort of man he wanted with him. Flight Officer Allison on the other hand, had a much different reason for being there. She was, for a lack of better words, the catalyst to negotiations. If the king saw a women with them, he would be more likely to listen to them –and more importantly, they wouldn't be seen as such a big threat.

Captain Wren and the two soldiers marched towards the gates, where a duo of guards were eyeing them with obvious suspicion.

"Halt!" One of them called.

"State your business in Aberon," the other one replied."

It was now or never. "My name," he said, "is Captain Wren of the UNSC. I am the leader of a group of powerful warriors and we would like to assist the leader of the Varden in their fight against the Empire."

"You wish to fight for the Varden?" The first guard replied. "How do we know you are sincere?"

"Let the mages from their leadership figure it out," the other one muttered. "Very well then," he then said to Wren. "If you wish to seek an audience with the Varden's leader, you have come to the right place. But be warned! The Empire's foul assassins have tried their hand in attacking her before! If you have come here do cause trouble, you will meet your fate faster than you can hold possible."

"Thank you," the Captain replied. "I will be sure to keep that in mind. Where do we need to go?"

The guardsman pointed him towards a castle called 'Boromeo castle', where the Varden's leader would be waiting for people to hold an audience with her. Her…Adrian hadn't thought a woman to be in charge of such a large army. Medieval worlds generally did not have women in very important positions after all.

"Sir?" Hudson whispered to him after a few minutes of silent walking. People were generally avoiding them and seeking shelter when they came near, as their suits and weapons most likely scared the piss out of them.

"Yes?"

"Someone's following us. Lady in a cloak."

How the Corporal had figured out that someone was even following them, much less that it was a female, was completely beyond Wren. But he believed Hudson, as the man's intuition had saved them on more than one occasion during missions.

"What are your orders sir?" Flight officer Allison asked.

"Keep moving, ignore her. Probably a guard sent to shadow us."

"Sir."

The three of them moved to the castle and even though Captain Wren could not see the person stalking then, Hudson guaranteed that she was still there. She had to be better than those average soldiers in this country, as Wren was by no means oblivious to the things that went on around him. He reminded himself to give Hudson a compliment for noticing something that subtle and then approached one of the guards. He wanted to check something and he wanted to ask for directions, like any good peasant would.

"Excuse me soldier," he told the man.

"How can I help you?"

"I am seeking the chambers of she who commands the Varden. A name was never specified to me."

The soldier opened his mouth to reply, but then his eyes glazed over and he shut it again. With a distant sounding voice, he then said: "That would be lady Nasuada. You will find her one story higher, in the room guarded by the six warriors." After that, he sighed. "Yes…I see. You should probably go there now. She will be waiting for you."

Waiting for them? They hadn't even met yet, how could this Nasuada person be waiting for them? That made absolutely no sense at all. Something fishy was going on here…the guard was acting strange. Very strange.

"Thanks," he said, "we'll do that."

"What was that all about?" the Flight Officer asked.

"He seemed odd," Wren replied. "Any idea why the guards from before were mentioning magic?"

"Magic sir?"

"Mages. There are some people in the Varden with abilities equivalent to magic to these people. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"They got some tech."

"Exactly. So the minute we step inside of that room…"

"We'll know their intent."

"Indeed. So be on your guard."

"Still getting stalked, sir,"

"Deal with the threat when we know who our enemy is. For now, ignore."

"Sir."

The entire castle was built like a medieval bunker, which was very curious to Captain Wren. The problem was that he had seen completely nothing to indicate that there was anything out of the ordinary here, except that everyone was stuck in the middle-ages. If the so-called Nasuada of the Varden was indeed an insurrectionist who had managed to convince these people to follow her –perhaps because of her 'magic'- one wrong move could have them end up at the receiving end of a thousand angry soldiers. And the nine of them didn't have enough ammo to kill a thousand soldiers. They needed to play this very, very carefully.

They approached a door which was guarded by four soldiers. Two of them were ordinary men with pikes and two of them were –for a lack of better words- midgets. They barely reached to the elbow of the humans and both of them had long, dark beards. Battleaxes hung at their belts and their armour seemed to be made by a different smith than the armour of the men. Why were midgets enlisted in the army? Medieval settings usually hated people that were different. The whole witch-burning thing; why would such obviously malformed people be allowed to fight? It indicated a superior intelligence in these humans that they seemed to tolerate them. That was very interesting.

But…the thing was that these people didn't look like actual midgets. Their proportions were right, albeit they were a bit stocky. And those beards…was someone trying to recreate the old 'dwarf' myths? Hairy people that were small and wielded axes?

"We have come for an audience with lady Nasuada," Wren said, trying to imitate the formal way of speaking.

The four guards did not respond, but instead chose to bash their weapons onto the ground three times. After a minute of silence, a voice spoke from within the closed room

"You may enter," Wren heard. That was obviously enough for the guards to let them through, but he still felt an obviously hostile demeanor from them. Apparently, they didn't like letting three complete strangers through to their leader.

He passed the last guard, who opened the heavy wooden door, and walked inside of the office. The first thing he noticed was that the person who was sitting behind the large desk had a very dark skin. Why would someone be in a commanding position in the middle-ages with such a skin-colour? These sort of people generally hated things that were different, so why…?

"My lady," he courteously said. She didn't appear much older than twenty, so why was she in charge? She wasn't wearing modern clothes, her office was simple and there were no obvious firearms on her. It was no reason for him to not analyze her every movement, but he had no reason to believe that she was an Insurrectionist. Perhaps this was an old human colony that was attacked by the Covenant long ago and had been forced to rebuild? No, there would be marks of combat in the area and someone would have remembered the war. So what was going on then?

She eyed him with an expression that held more experience than a girl her age should have. Was she in the military? Gifted with unnatural intelligence and insight that got her in a position where she could use them? If so, these people were advanced with their mentality. "Welcome to Aberon. I take it you have traveled far?"

Why would she take it that they had traveled far? It was their gear, he was sure of it. This was a way to test them…but why? She had to have no idea who they were. It had to be their extremely foreign appearance. She was testing them. "Indeed, my lady. Our travels were filled with danger, most of which was directed to us by the Empire."

She raised an eyebrow. "And you have fled to Surda for protection? Why would you insist on seeing me if that is the case?"

"We wish to offer you our services as warriors," Wren replied. "In exchange for services from yourself, of course, my lady."

She sighed. "It is always thus. An eye for an eye."

"It is how the world works. Everybody wants something and as such, everybody can give something."

"If I were to accept your offer, what would you want from me in return, sir…"

"Captain Wren of the United Nations Space Command."

Her eyes flashed with recognition, only for a second. But in that second, he knew. He knew that she knew. "Which would be the…UNSC…in short, if I am not mistaken?"

"You are not," Wren replied. "We are looking for a comrade of ours. As the Empire is also his enemy, he must have taken actions to oppose them. In all honesty, I had hoped that the leader of the Varden could tell us if she knew about him."

"There are many people in the country," Nasuada replied. "How is one man supposed to stand out?"

"Oh believe me, he stands out," Flight Officer Allison remarked.

"Why would you offer to fight for us if you find your friend?" Nasuada asked. She wasn't stupid. "You are offering your lives for the position of one man."

"With respect my lady, we seek to get out of this land as fast as possible. But our craft is stuck just at the edge of a forest called Du Weldenvarden. We need our ally to get back to it. He will be fighting the Empire, so the war between the Empire and the Varden is also our war."

"You," Nasuada mentioned to Allison, "said that your ally stands out in a crowd. What makes him stand out?"

"His effective way of fighting," Hudson replied.

"His way of fighting?" Nasuada asked the Corporal. "Not his set of armour?"

"How did you-"

"Do not take me for a fool. The Spartan spoke of his people –people who would come looking for him. You three stand out almost as much as he does. The weapon on your hip is similar to his and I recognize the name of the UNSC. "

"Then we can drop this game of information gathering," Wren remarked. "We need the Spartan to get back to our ship. If you tell us where he is, we can help make this war easier for you."

"Spartan was a remarkable ally," Nasuada said. "We could really use some assistance in our fight to usurp the king. How many of you are there?"

"I like to keep that a secret until we have reached a mutual agreement.."

The woman sighed. "Probably not nearly as much as I had hoped, anyway. Not enough to change the balance of the war, I assume?"

"Lady," Hudson remarked, "If we get our ship back, you'll see how fast we can change this war."

"It will be harder than imaged though," Nasuada replied. "The Spartan is currently training with the elves, in the forest of Du Weldenvarden. It can take weeks for him to return to us."

"Elves? Lady Nasuada, can you elaborate? We are not familiar with terms like elves…or mages, for that instance."

"I would like to, but something else must happen before we can proceed with actual negotiations."

"Oh?" The Captain replied, feeling surprised. "What might that be?"

"I need to verify whether you people are truly whom you say you are," Nasuada said matter-of-factly.

"Lady, our weapons and gear speak for us," Allison remarked.

"Ah, but the Empire's agents could have captured your unit, stole your weapons and forced you to spill your secrets to them. We shall see soon."

"Excuse me?" Captain Wren said. "Do you think the Empire capable of doing something that farfetched? If you thought us to be enemies, you were a fool to allow us inside anyway. How will you verify our identity anyway?"

"I was never in jeopardy," Nasuada said. "As a Captain, you of all people must understand. It will be a simple check of the mind and then-"

"It's them alright," another voice spoke up. It sounded female, only unlike any female he had heard before. It was a voice filled with resentment, anger and sarcasm.

Hudson swore and turned around, pulling his sidearm in the process. "It's her!"

"You're a little eagle-eye, aren't you?" It was the woman that the Corporal had described. She was wearing a dark cloak, with hood pulled back to reveal an attractive albeit ghastly-pale face. Her red hair reached to her shoulders and that alone didn't make her appear inhuman. It was the extreme bloodthirst that lay within her albino-red eyes. Those inhuman, maleficent eyes. This woman was not –could not be- a human being.

But that left the question of _what _she was, if not human.

"How do you mean?" Nasuada asked the newcomer, who managed to walk past the three of them without even touching them. "How can you be so sure?"

"Nasuada, please," the newcomer spoke with a tone that should have been completely unacceptable, pointed at a superior. "I can sense it. Spartan has a peculiar scent; one that these humans share, if only vague and weak. Besides; I saw these men in Spartan's mind, during our duel."

"You had a duel with the Spartan?" Hudson asked, a hint of awe present in his voice.

"Can it Corporal," Allison hissed at the younger soldier.

"Yes, forgive me for stating the obvious, but…can you tell us what is going on here? You saw us in the Spartan's mind? What's that code word for, you and he talked? …you got him to talk?"

"No," the woman replied with obvious contempt. "It is as I said. Your Spartan and I battled and attacked each other's mind. I saw men, wearing your uniform. And your smell resembles his."

"You can smell us?" Allison asked.

"What do I smell like?" Hudson said, but one glare from Wren shut him up again.

"This talk of mind-battles, smells and magic is growing annoying really fast," the Captain then said. "We really do want to help you in this fight, as the Empire attacked us without provocation, but I must insist. If you two cannot take this seriously, we-"

The woman muttered something under her breath and all of a sudden, one of the cabinets erupted into flames. Hudson gave a cry of surprise, as did Nasuada. Then the redheaded woman said another word which Wren could not understand and the fire died out, revealing a completely undamaged cabinet.

"Ok, what the hell?" Hudson snapped. "What was that?"

"Magic," Nasuada spat. "Raia, was that necessary?"

"Humans with no knowledge of magic tire me easily," 'Raia' said. Why did she talk like she wasn't a human?

"Lady Nasuada, if we are to work together I need to know everything about this world," Wren told the Varden's leader. "And that wasn't magic, that was…something else. Phosphorus, burning glue, something like that. There is no magic. Magic doesn't exist."

"No?" the redhead then said, a hint of amusement present in her tone. "Fine then." She then spoke another few words which had to be some foreign language, as they sounded like nothing Wren had heard before. But the moment she did, a shiver ran down his spine and the room grew darker and darker, until it appeared like they were residing in the night. "Magic is very real. It is what has allowed the long to survive for so long and it is what allows the experienced fighters to kill with impunity."

"I take it that this is more than simply dousing the lights?" Nasuada said. She sounded smug.

"Magic? How…what?" Wren muttered. Impossible! There had to be some trick to it! Unless…there hadn't been any visible weapons in the enemy's ranks and yet they had managed to damage the Pelican dropship…and nearly blow the Flight Officer off of her horse. Without weapons. It wasn't possible…had these people managed to harness some tech that they saw as magic?

"Yes, the Spartan was also very reluctant to believe the existence of magic in our world," Nasuada said, as the room became light again. "But think of this, Captain Wren: your very origin is to us what magic is to you. And your weapons too. Who could have dreamt of people coming from the stars?"

"And the mind-reading?" Wren asked, feeling more confused than he had ever felt before. "How does that work?"

"Magic is the manipulation of energy through words, I have been taught," Nasuada replied. "But where are my manners? Please sit down and we shall discuss this to greater extents." She beckoned to three chairs and the Captain took one of them to sit in, but both Hudson as Allison remained standing.

"Words? Like she spoke?"

"Indeed. Some people are capable of extending their minds and interact with those of others. How this goes is beyond my understanding."

The Corporal whispered something to the Flight Officer and the next second, his combat knife flashed out of its holster and pressed itself against his neck. He reacted with the trained reflexes of an ONI agent and grabbed the handle before the threatening gesture could even be finished and he tore it out of its trajectory.

"Yes I can," Raia coolly said. "Want to test it?"

"No thank you," Hudson replied. He didn't sound very shaken for a man who just had a magical knife attacking his neck. "I didn't think you could hear me."

"Obvious."

"Do you two make a habit of threatening your visitors?" Wren asked.

"I do apologize for my associate's…free manner of acting. Human manners are…not easy to understand for her."

"Right. And she's an elf?" the Captain skeptically asked.

"Shade, actually. Elves have pointed ears," Nasuada responded with an amused expression. "Where did you come from? Can you point which star?"

"It seems you hold as many questions for me as I for you, young lady. Do you lead this army?"

"I may be young, but me and my father are the best hopes for the people. What weapons did you bring?"

"How about this? A question for a question?"

"Very well. Who shall start?"

"The guest, if I may be so presumptuous."

"I agree to this. Which question should I answer first?"

"The very first one. Are there any other countries involved in this war?"

"No, just Alagaesia. The elves, dwarves and humans are all involved. The urgals are with the Empire, just like the vile Ra'zac." She paused, obviously waiting for Adrian to follow through with another question. When he didn't, she leant back in her chair and eyed his team. Raia took a position behind her, with her hands clasped behind her back. "How many of you are there?"

"Including us, nine." With two spooks, one other Corporal, two tough Sergeants and a very intelligent Second Lieutenant waiting just outside the city, they had a formidable force to use. Of course, he wasn't going to waste UNSC personnel and supplies in some battle that wasn't important. Well, after they had linked up with the Spartan, anyway. "What are the major factions in this war? Who is whose ally?"

"That sounds like two questions," Nasuada smiled.

"The second one was an elaboration to the first one."

"Very well. Our primary enemy is king Galbatorix, who has usurped the throne nearly a hundred years back. After the fall of the Dragon Riders, Surda became independent. The king has allied himself with the urgals, savage brutes, and the Ra'zac, file monsters. The Varden originally consisted out of those who opposed the king, but now it has allied itself with the dwarves. The elves, uninvolved in the conflict as they might be, are also our allies. They live in the forest to the north." A dozen questions instantly popped into Wren's mind, but he banished them for the most important one. And it was Nasuada's turn anyway. "Can you bring more of your people into this conflict?"

"Our large ship in the sky is damaged," Wren slowly replied. This was getting sensitive. "It cannot ask for help until we can repair it. As for now, we are with fifty warriors. Including my marines, not including me." It left him with a big, ugly decision: once he got to the Pelican, he wanted to go back to the _When Duty Ends_ and repair it to get away from this planet. He did _not _want to sacrifice additional men and women to solve some stupid civil war. He _had _promised Nasuada to assist her in the war, but not to what degree. Until he got to the Spartan and the Pelican, he would help her. After they had found the Spartan though, they'd bolt. "How did this war start?"

Nasuada sighed. "History…I see. Once, this country held men, dwarf and elf in peace. Together with the dragons-" dragons? "-we were having a time of ease. The Dragon Riders, elves and humans bonded with mind and heart to certain dragons, kept the peace. Galbatorix, born more than a century ago, lost his dragon to Urgals. He became mad with grief and appealed to the riders to get the change at another dragon egg. When he was refused, his grief and pain grew so large that he left the Riders, plotting revenge. He committed many atrocities, including killing a young Rider and stealing his dragon hatchling to force it to bond it to himself. He gained followers, including a man called Morzan, and then declared war on the Dragon Riders. He destroyed many things and almost drove the dragons to extinction. He has ruled this country ever since."

Dragons? Elves? Dwarves? What? "I can barely believe magic. Elves and dwarves though? Too much. Dragons? Don't make me laugh."

"It is true. There are two dwarves right outside of our room, guarding us. Your Spartan is bonded to a dragon and-"

"No way," Hudson said, interrupting them.

"Quiet soldier," Wren said, but Nasuada looked at the Corporal with an expression of curiosity.

"Why do you say that? Is that hard to believe?"

Hudson then looked at Wren, who gave him the tiniest of nods to grant him permission to speak his mind.

"I know that Spartan, ma'am, and he does not care for a single living being. All he does is kill, learn how to better kill and think about killing. There is no way he would ever willingly "bond" to something."

"You would say that, wouldn't you?" Raia snapped at the man, venom dripping off of her voice.

"Excuse me?" Allison asked, as calm and unfazed as ever.

"You humans are always so quick to judge," the woman told them. "The Spartan doesn't care about a living being huh? Ever tried to find out if that is true? Ever tried to _talk _to him?"

"Did you talk to him?" Hudson retorted, his hand slowly going for his sidearm in case things got hot. "Cause the last time I tried, he ignored me. The time before that, he ignored me. The time before that, he replied with a single word, then ignored me. And so on."

"You can't get to know someone who doesn't want to have any interaction," Flight Officer Allison then added.

"Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven's interactions are irrelevant," Wren called.

"Alright," Nasuada then said, "my turn. How come you don't look like the Spartan? You are his people, right?"

"The Spartan is part of an elite-unit with advanced technology to assist him," the Captain replied. "We are a different unit, with normal soldiers. You said Galbatorix went mad with grief. How does this dragon bonding work? Magic?"

"It is a sad thing, really," Nasuada replied. "A dragon is an wise, powerful being with incredible innate magical abilities. Because of a war between the elves and the dragons, centuries ago, they made a pact. They used a powerful spell to enchant a number of eggs, which caused the babies within to wait with hatching until they had found the right purpose. Don't ask how, as I doubt even the elves know this. I heard that, when the dragon chooses someone, that person will feel a compulsive desire to touch the egg. The, the bonding begins."

"Touch? With the bare skin?" Wren asked. "Like imprinting?"

"I think. All I know is that an extremely powerful bond will be formed between the Rider and the dragon, which runs deep enough to intertwine the very soul. Their minds and bodies get joined, enabling them to exchange feelings, thoughts and memories together."

That didn't sound like the Spartan very much. He didn't want to admit it, but Hudson was right. Sierra zero-zero-seven was a weapon. A weapon with its safety permanently clicked off. Encased in that MJOLNIR, the only thought that resided in the soldier's mind was how to destroy his enemy.

"Magic. Lady, our Spartan would never willingly create a bond with anything. I am finding it very hard to believe that-"

"From what I heard, it was an accident."

That shut him up. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Spartan told me that he had stolen the egg from the capital, thinking it to be a gem. When it hatched, he accidentally touched it and got bonded to it."

That sounded extremely unsettling. To be mentally bonded to a wild animal with your very mind… _if _this was the truth at least. If it was the truth, and the Spartan had truly bonded to something these people called a dragon…he would be compromised. On the other hand…magic would enable the UNSC to prevail over the Covenant in every single engagement with the Covenant for the rest of the coming wars. If the UNSC could just harness magic as a weapon…they would be unstoppable. And Wren couldn't dismiss magic now that he had seen the things that this...Raia…had done. With just a few words she had created fire, put out fire without harming anything, darkened an entire room in the middle of the day and mentally moved a knife.

His head was hurting. Was that what the Empire had attacked them with? Magic? And was that what he had felt during their escape? Someone attacking his mind? What had that person been able to see? What could he do to defend himself against it?

"Nasuada," Wren said firmly, "there is no way that the Spartan would _ever_ get emotionally involved with anything. No love, no friendship, nothing. He is a being that is completely and utterly devoted to his duty and the war. You will see when we get him back."

Raia snorted. "Oh we'll see alright."

~0~

'_Aeraleth?'_

The black dragon concentrated on the voice of her beloved Rider and groggily answered him, trying to prevent her mind from waking up from her dreams in the process. ´_Yes Maine? Is something amiss?'_

'_Meet me south of Ellesméra, a hundred meters distance.'_

'_My body is sleeping, despite my mind having just woken up. Is there an emergency?'_

'_I have a gift for you. Meet me ASAP.'_

ASAP…right, as soon as possible. The young rider sounded urgent, but….he didn't sound distressed in any way, neither did his mind feel damaged. Then again, there had yet to be a foe that could distress him. Perhaps it would be better if she met him south of the city, just to be certain.

Rousing herself from her sleep, Aeraleth flexed her muscles and oriented herself. She was in the long-ear-elf Daenlith's house, and Maine's tree was a few dozen meters away from her.

She used one of Glaedr's techniques to find the north, turned around and then headed towards the south. Maine had never woken her up before at night and she had to admit that the idea of her being tired and groggy was a disturbing one. She had to be at her very best when enemies arrived and the very best was _not _a dragon that was half asleep.

Aeraleth made her way through the forest towards the position where her rider had asked her to be, making sure that she made as little noise as possible. Maine had told her that stealth and darkness was her friend. She was black, so the shadows would hide her. Why she wanted to hide in the first place, while her scales were so beautiful, was still a hard reason to follow. She needed to elude enemies that would try to attack her in the night, even though everyone was supposed to be sleeping.

She blinked once and stretched her hind legs. What sort of gift would the Spartan have? He ought to be sleeping at this time, not scurrying around in the darkness. Had he lost his mind?

A few minutes later, she felt the presence of her rider at its strongest. He was somewhere around, but she couldn't see him, even with her superior eyesight. Why was he hiding from her? '_Maine, I have arrived. Where are you, little soldier?'_

'_Over here. I thought of something.'_

'_Yes?'_ She replied, turning to where his mind was located. She saw a tree, some bushes, another tree…and a human.

Wait, a human?

She squinted her eyes and discerned the form that she was seeing. The wind changed and all of a sudden, she could smell it. Him. Her Rider. Without his suit. His scent was so strong, so new, that it nearly threatened to overwhelm her senses. He smelled like sweat and blood and water and leaves and herbs…he had been scurrying around in the forest for a while on his own, touching all sorts of interesting plants. But his suit was gone…why? Why would he take his suit off?

And then he appeared before her, like a shadow moving over the ground. His footsteps made no sound, his breath was soundless and his stride was vulnerable and shy.

'_Maine…?'_

'_Aeraleth. I can't concentrate on the ground.'_

'_What-'_ and then it hit her. He couldn't concentrate on the ground, so where could he concentrate? Either in the water, or in the air. He didn't want to bathe yet, so it had to be the latter. And he had taken off his armour because his bulk had hurt her before…and he didn't want to hurt her again. She could feel it now.

Happiness and gratitude filled her heart and she was at a loss for words. Maine's one weakness was his dependency on his suit and he believed himself to be in mortal danger without it. He hated it, he despised it and he couldn't bear it. And he had willingly taken it off for her, to grant her the ride that she had never had before.

One of the clouds shifted and moved, allowing the fake-sun to shine its radiant beams into the forest uninstructed. Her Rider was temporarily illuminated before he took a step back again, hiding in the shadows as if his instinct demanded it. But Aeraleth had caught a glimpse of his appearance and that was enough to burn it into her memory. His eyes were an incredible shade of blue, as bright as Saphira's scales were, gleaming with inhuman possibilities. His clothes were tight and subtly spanning over his body and muscles as if it was a second skin for him to wear, further accentuating his well-developed body. His face was as pale as a Shade's and his suit –not his bulky one- was as black as her own scales.

'_Got time for a nightly stroll?'_

She responded by wrapping her tail around her Rider, pulling him off his feet and placing him on her back. Without his suit he weighted nothing; more than the average human did, but nothing compared to her impressive strength. '_For you? Always.'_

'_Easy now.'_

'_I did not wish to harm you.´_

_´You didn't; my bones are extremely tough to break. There's a spike on your back.'_

'_I know. Several. What is-'_ Maine then opened the link between their minds and allowed her to see the world as he saw it. It was a rather intimate and complicated sensation and she had to get used to the sudden change of view. His eyesight was not at all stunted and dull, like she had expected of those day-dwelling humans. Every single detail was razor-sharp and refined; colours were enhanced and things just seemed to…move.

Wait…why was one of her spines so close in his point of view? Did he…oh. Right.

She had nearly thrown him with his face on her spike. '_Whoops.'_

'_First day without my suit and you attempt to murder me?'_

'_It was an accident.'_

'_I'll bet. Where do you want to go?'_

'_I am a dragon.'_ She spread her wings and took a large jump, crushing a tree in the process. '_I go wherever I want to go.' _Then, on the second jump, the brought her wings down hard and allowed herself to be caught by the wind. Glaedr had told her that dragons used their innate magic to fly, but she couldn't really feel that. To her, flying was a purely physical thing. An amazing physical thing nonetheless, but still physical.

With her rider on her back, she took the skies. It was a wonderful experience, to finally be able to fly without having to fear that her body would collapse underneath Maine's weight. His suit weighed five times as much as he did and without it, she could perform all the intricate maneuvers that she had been unable to perform before. However, there was a small problem. She did not have a saddle like Saphira did and without it, it would be very hard to perform the dangerous moves that might enable her to beat an enemy dragon in the sky.

'_Aeraleth?'_

'_Yes?'_

'_Go high.'_

'_Glaedr told me that the higher I go, the more dangerous it gets for my rider.'_

'_Glaedr is not here.'_

'_But you are.'_

'_And I say higher.'_

'_But why?'_

'_I want to test something.'_

'_Very well. Hang on.'_ Maine had nothing to hang on to except for her spikes and that made it very dangerous for him to follow her in the complicated moves. One wrong move and she could throw him off, which she didn't want. With his suit, he might survive it. Without it? He would be turned into a smear. A smear with intact bones perhaps, but still a smear.

She gave a powerful heave with her wings and gained altitude fast. Her Rider did not complain, despite the chilly air and the great forces that were pulling on them. He never once complained about things that physically plagued him and that was both impressive as worrying. He had never once told her about the poison that had been flowing through his veins and if he had told her…had he told her, she could have helped him. But he never asked her help, he never-

'_Once.'_

'_Excuse me?'_

'_I asked for your help, once.'_

Oh….ah. Aeraleth realized that she might have projected her thoughts a bit too openly. Maine had heard her thinking about his lack of assistance-asking.

Bur so what? It was the truth! '_You asked for my help when you were about to murder our allies. You should have told me that before. How can I assist you if you do not trust me with that?'_

'_I am no accustomed to working with others.'_

She reached a height where she was beginning to get bothered by the cold air. Her breathe was exiting her nostrils in white clouds and pieces of ice were beginning to form on her body. Maine kept quiet, though she could feel how the cold was penetrating to his very bones. It was strange but…she could have sworn that, if a dragon like her was having difficulties in this weather, any normal human or even elf would have long since perished. But his body had still not reached its limit.

´_High enough,'_ her Rider then said. '_How fast can you dive again?'_

'_Faster than any creature can fall,'_ she proudly said.

'_Good. When we face flying enemies, we will need to perform aerial attacks.'_

'_Yes. So we need to dive-bomb?'_

'_And excellent suggestion. But for now, catch me.'_

'_Why? You are still on my-'_ Before she could finish her sentence, Maine jumped off of her back. He didn't relocate, or move to her leg, but he actually jumped. ´_Are you insane?'_ she yelled at him and immediately dove after him. Her reaction could not have been faster and yet she had almost lost her Rider's frail form in the dark night; she folded her wings against her side, tucked her limbs in and plummeted into the darkness below.

What was her rider thinking? Jumping off of her like that? Did he want to die?

She spotted the dark shape of the soldier in the sky and immediately moved to intercept him. She slowly spread her limbs until she same relative speed as him and then approached him. He spotted her, reached out and grabbed one of her spikes. He gave her a sign and she unfolded her wings again, catching a wild gale which than yanked her back into the sky.

'_What was that for?' _She demanded.

'_Aerial incursion and attacks are among the hardest to fight off. If and when we need to fight Galbatorix, in the case I don't have ammo left, I'll have to attack him like this.'_

'_By hurling yourself off of me? Isn't that dangerous?'_

'_You caught me, didn't you?'_

'_Well, that's true, but…in the middle of a fight, I might not get the chance.'_

'_Don't worry. There'll always be a chance.'_

Aeraleth wanted to chastise her rider further, but she understood that he was probably more aware of his movements than she was. Any attack delivered by him, enhanced by his suit or not, was very likely to completely cripple the foe. It would be more than a distraction for her.

Very well. It would have to do. '_Next time warn me. Had any elf looked up tonight, they would have declared us mad.´_

_´Me, yes. They would declare you the master of a new sport and go sky-diving.'_

'_I don't think elves are capable of doing sports you do.´_

With her rider back where he belonged, Aeraleth took the skies once more. It was so amazing, to finally be able to fly freely with her rider. And he wasn't troubled by the cold or the wind at all, so they could take all the time they wanted. For more than an hour they flew together, talking about things and subtly sharing their emotions to each other. Maine's emotions were extremely basic and childlike in a way; he was able to let her know that he was content and satisfied, but that was all that she got out of him. It was an improvement from before though.

'_Maine?'_

'_Yes?'_

'_You had people with you when you came here, yes?'_

'_Yes.´_

_´But you said you worked alone?'_

'_I do. They pilot the ship, I perform the mission. I don't actually work with them.'_

'_Oh. But…but what if they still lived?'_

'_Excuse me?'_

'_I mean…'_ How was she going to say this? '_That thing you used to strip your armour…could it have been placed there by your people? If so…they would be alive, if lost.'_

'_I am sure we would have heard from them by now if-'_

'_-but you never found a body. They could still live?'_

'_They would have done something by now.'_

'_But you could scry them.'_

'…_that's a good one. I'll scry the captain when we get back.'_

He actually agreed with her idea? That didn't happen very often, so she was impressed. He really was growing very fast now. As much as he seemed to dislike the elves, they still had a positive influence on him.

Eventually, when the second hour began, Aeraleth decided to call it a night. She located the position of Ellesméra and found an appropriate spot to land without alerting the elves. '_What made you think of taking your armor off?'_

Maine jumped off of her back and landed without making a sound. '_I needed time to think about a few things. Sleeping didn't work…'_

'_People generally can't think well when they sleep.'_

'…_and neither did walking. So flying would have to suffice. And you can't fly comfortable if I wear my MJOLNIR.'_

'_Thanks, I guess. What did you need to think about then?'_

'_About the Forerunner building. About creating new ammo. How to kill an army without wasting energy…how to destroy armoured vehicles.'_

'…_the normal things then?'_

'_That too. Also, I seem to dream more and more lately. It frustrates me.'_

'_Ah, that is unfortunate to hear. I understand that you will go to sleep tonight, anyway?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_Who knows, perhaps you will sleep better without your suit?'_

'_Perhaps Oromis can teach me better if he knows my limits.'_

'_What do you mean with that? Will you not put your armour back on now that we are done with flying?'_

'_No. When I came here, I thought that magic and dragons and elves were just stories. Fake. Stupid things for children. But it's all true and it's all here. And the key to this all lies in Ellesméra. Oromis might be able to help me if I help him.'_

'…_ánd...?'_

'_And perhaps I will sleep better without my suit on.'_

'_There it is.'_

She followed her Rider's mind until he had reached his barracks. With his unsettlingly quiet method of walking, not even the long-eared elves could hear him. She did accidentally wake Daenlith up though, but she was a dragon after all. She wasn't going to sneak around like a scared rabbit when she was an apex predator!

Aeraleth lowered her head on the soft grass and watched the slender frame of the pointy-eared two-legged elf appeared in the door-opening.

'_Is everything alright, Aeraleth?' _Daenlith asked.

'_Yes,'_ Aeraleth replied and blinked lazily. '_Everything is very much alright.´_

~0~

The first sign of the new morning was the fact that a single beam of light had managed to find its way past the membrane that usually covered the window, shining right and unopposed into the room. The first sign to Maine that he wasn't wearing his armour was that the single beam of light didn't stop at shining into the room, but kept on going and ended right into his face. Normally, his visor would automatically polarize to compensate for the sudden light. But his helmet was neatly folded on top of his suit, which in turn was stacked away in a corner where it could be spotted from the bed immediately. Protected by several spells called 'wards', nobody could see it unless they were specifically observing it from the Spartan's bed, as he had enchanted the air around it to deflect the rays of light that would have otherwise revealed the set of armour. Even if one were to sense the magic and remove the spell, nobody could touch it without getting harmed in the process. Still, his suit couldn't do anything for him if he wasn't wearing it and soon, the light in his face became unbearable.

Maine sighed and swung his legs out of the bed. He had grown so accustomed to sleeping in his suit that he hadn't even felt the difference…until he had been woken up by a stray ray of light, that is.

…light? He never woke up because of light. Why would he wake up because of light now?

…it was probably late in the morning.

Maine marched to the window, yanked the thin membrane aside and spotted the sun hanging over the treeline. He had slept in! Foolishness; he never slept in? It had to be because he had taken his armour off, that was it. But…that would insinuate that he had slept better than before, right? That in turn would insinuate that he didn't sleep well inside of his armour. And that was…well, actually pretty close to the truth..

He sighed and burrowed his face in his arms. His head was throbbing, he felt unnaturally warm and his knees were trembling. Had he caught a local disease or something? He should be going to Oromis to have that little testing, but…he didn´t really feel like doing that. He felt restless and he yearned for action; to finally be able to fight something again, moving his limbs with the intent to kill and maim.

Sparring was one option, but Vanir and the other younger elves would most likely die in a duel, even though he had taken his suit off now. Wait a minute, what was he thinking? He didn't want one single elf except for Oromis to seem him without his MJOLNIR!

But…how was he going to work the restlessness and aggression out of his body if he couldn't spar with anyone? The last time he had felt as he felt now, it had cultivated in his desire to murder every living being around him. If he got such a fit in here, in Ellesméra? He wouldn't be able to control himself like he had before. Only because he had actually liked a person in the group he was traveling with had he been able to alert Aeraleth in time. But here? He didn't respect anyone; he didn't like anyone and he didn't think of anyone as a capable warrior. Disgusting lack of discipline it might be, but it would most likely result in the death of at least four elves if he couldn't think of a reason to hold back.

He took a deep breath and focused. Sparring…Eragon was human and thus easily beaten. No challenge. Vanir was young, lacking in technique and an asshole. No challenge. Oromis was old, but also seeking to measure his limits. No fight. That left either Arya or one of the other elder elves, but Arya was a princess. And Eragon's escort. No way that he was going to challenge her to a match…and no way that he was going to be naked in front of her.

…damn he felt naked. Riding Aeraleth was one thing, but fighting an elf was a completely different thing. He just didn't trust the other elves enough for them to be a proper sparring partner. What should he do?

Daenlith. She lived rather reclusively, was an aged and experienced fighter and trustable enough to appear naked in front of.

…that phrase went somewhere wrong…oh well. Sparring with Daenlith would actually be a perfect way to get rid of his pent-up frustrations and restlessness and if she was good enough, it might actually enable him to learn something.

There was but one problem: he didn't have a sword. And he didn't want to walk to her house while naked. And he didn't want have any other elf see him while he was naked. What would he do? What should he do? Well, it was obvious what he should do. The way to actually do it, though? He would need to be stealthy. And for that, he needed a distraction. A scout. A recon unit.

He concentrated on the link between Aeraleth and him and flashed a thought towards her mind. Seconds later, she responded.

'_Morning little soldier. What is it you seek?'_

'_I need your assistance.'_

'_Did you forget how to walk without your suit?'_

He flexed his muscles and marched towards the exit. Walking was difficult at first, but he only needed a few steps to recover his usual gait. '_A bit. But that´s not why I need your help.´_

_´Oh? Whatever could you need from me?'_

'_I need you to scout the terrain between me and you. Are you still in Daenlith's house?'_

'_I am. Why?'_

'_Because I am naked and I don't want anyone-'_

'_Maine, hold up. Go back. Do you wish to know why I am with Daenlith because you are naked, or do you wish me to scout the terrain because you are naked? Wait, that doesn't make sense either way. And why are you even naked? You had clothes underneath your suit.'_

'_Yes,´_ he awkwardly replied. He had spotted a few elf tunics scattered throughout the barracks and because he would need all the cover he could get, he had decided to don one of them. Anyone spotting him walking would just think him to be another elf. ´_And I exchanged them for an elf tunic. Because it would be too warm for me to wear both. And Oromis needs to test me without my suit.´_

_´I wasn't going to ask anything about the tunic. You could really be naked for all I care, but two-legged beings have the strange habit to think a lack of clothing to be strange. It was only because you hated being naked that I was curious to that.'_

'_Clothes are irrelevant. Is the road to Daenlith's house crowded?'_

'_Not really. An older elven lady is tending to some flowers, but that is about it. I could just fly to you, you know? You don't need to risk getting seen.'_

'_Negative. I'll meet you there.'_

'_I was being sarcastic.'_

´_I wasn't.´ _ He knew that he was most likely acting foolish in Aeraleth´s eyes, but he really didn't care. He had decided to take his suit off because of a multitude of reasons, but now that he had actually done so those reasons sounded foolish in his head. If there was any elf who would want to attack him, his lack of protection would only make it easier for them to hurt him. He could create wards and spells to protect himself though…if he formulated his spells in the form of "weaken the enemy's attack on my body", he could decide when to cancel it. His energy reserves were equal to or greater than that of any elf, so it wasn't like an elf could just decide to kill him with one spell. The idea of anyone attacking him here was a silly one at best, so that argument for wearing his armour was vague at best.

He had long ago learned not to depend on his equipment. Equipment broke down, humans did not, that had been drilled into him with various missions. But he didn't depend on his MJOLNIR so much for protection or senses as much as plain comfort. He was stuck, basically all alone, on some physics-defying planet where magic and dragons ruled. His hopes of linking up with the UNSC were slim at best...right now, his best chance was to learn as much magic as he could and then find a way to find the lost dropship. He would repair it and pilot it back to the _When Duty Ends,_ where he would try to use all his newly gained knowledge to…

…to do what, exactly? He wasn't certified to pilot a Destroyer all and even if the crew on the ship were still alive, they didn't have a captain. If Wren was still alive, he could find him and take him back to the ship. Only…he didn't want to leave Aeraleth behind. ONI would most likely dissect her to find out what made her tick and they wouldn't even find the source, as it was magic. But…if ONI could replicate the magic effect, they could end up saving billions of lives when the Covenant was reformed or, worse, if the Flood ever returned.

He banished the memory of slimy tentacles wrapping around his legs and focused on what needed to be done. Priorities: help Oromis teach him magic. Scry captain Wren. Find Pelican dropship.

But the Forerunner ruins then? The Forerunners had brought him here for a reason and that reason was most likely hidden within those ruins. Who was involved with those ruins? Gilderien the Wise. And the Wise wanted to see him after the Blood-oath celebration. That was his best shot. The Covenant races were the smallest threat to mankind now; as long as the Sangheili remained mankind's allies, mankind's survival was guaranteed. But the destruction of the Flood in the Ark guaranteed in no way that humanity was safe from that particular threat. They were still out there, lurking in the dark bowels of other Halos that had yet to be discovered.

If he returned to the UNSC, he could continue his line of stagnant-growing Operations against threats that no longer posed a real danger. But stay here…and he could potentially find out what the Forerunners had planned. And humanity always was part of a greater scheme.

Yes…he would stay here and unlock the Forerunner secrets. With Aeraleth's help of course. New priorities: help Oromis teach him magic, speak with Gilderien the Wise, find out about Forerunner building, wait until further notice.

Maine jumped out of his tree-building and orientated himself to Aeraleth's position. Their mental bond was strong enough for him to instantly locate her when she was within a hundred meters distance and when she wasn't, all he needed to do was concentrate on their bond find her. It was actually a pretty convenient method.

Now, Oromis was probably going to test him with a sword. For proper sword-fighting. Maine had been capable of defeating the elf because he knew how to counter opponents with a sword while in the possession of a combat knife and because of the superior reflexes that his suit granted him. Without his MJOLNIR he wouldn't fare very well in a sword-fight. When he was going to run out of ammo, he would need to use basic melee weapons to kill his foes. And when his foes were at the same level as Raia was, he would need all the techniques he could get.

Hence the sparring. He needed to up his techniques and the only person he could –wanted to- train with was the one whom Aeraleth lived with. Daenlith.

But that left him with another problem and as he made his way past the various trees and bushes, he was slowly starting to think that he had seriously messed up. He didn't want to show his face to anyone except for Aeraleth. The fact that Raia had seen what he looked like underneath his helmet was an unfortunate, if acceptable incident. He had been suffering from that venom and at the moment, someone seeing his face was the least of his troubles.

He reached the house without encountering anyone that might have recognized him. He had been at the receiving end of a few weird stares, but those had been inconsequential. Unimportant. There were weirder elves pouring into Du Weldenvarden each passing day and he suspected that was because of the Celebration. It had been three days since he had learnt about the upcoming festival and with only a few days remaining, it seemed as if Ellesméra was going to become the number one most populated city in Du Weldenvarden.

Just a few days day ago, the city had been crowding with activity as the elves started preparing for the Celebration. Maine had never seen the m all so excited before; Arya had been beaming as she took Eragon from one artist to the other which was weird because, last time he had seen them, there had been a big fuss about Eragon having made a painting of her. But now they were pretty close together again and Arya had even wanted to take Maine, to meet a great warrior. She had thought he would enjoy himself there. But seeing as she had also taken Orik with her and that Eragon and a small, furry thing called a werecat were also supposed to go with them, he had declined.

But Arya wasn't the only one who was growing more overjoyed and unworried with every passing hour; every single elf, with the rare possible exception of the smith and some important Lords, was basically wetting their pants in anticipation for the coming days. Daenlith, the queen and even Oromis were all becoming happier and more joyful as the festival grew closer. Maine had spotted Islanzadí decorating trees around her hall and around the enormous Menoa tree, Oromis' mood had improved so much that even the more glaring lack of knowledge from his student's side was almost instantly forgiven and Daenlith had visited the Spartan's house not two days ago, asking if he wanted to visit the Menoa tree with her.

He hadn't declined. So…perhaps if Daenlith was still in such a good mood, she would want to practice with him. He would need to be careful though. The last thing he wanted was another dead sparring partner.

There was a nagging feel at the back of his mind, but he took a deep breath and then banished it out of his mind. "Daenlith?" He spoke in a low voice, hoping that the elf was alone. Well, it would be better for her if she wasn't alone, but better for him if she was.

Aeraleth's head appeared from inside the courtyard and she blinked at him.

And he blinked back. It felt awkward, but also oddly comforting.

He spotted movement through one of the windows and before he knew it, the door opened and revealed the slender frame of his elf companion.

"Spartan, how can I…" her voice died away as she stared at him, her deep yellow eyes fixated on his face in an obvious shocked expression. Her hand was pressed on the hilt of a sword –which she hadn't been doing when she had opened the door, he was sure of that- and her posture had changed into a threatening one without an obvious transition.

He brought his fingers to his lips and wondered what distance was considered polite. There wasn't a large helmet in the way now, so the movement felt a bit jerky. Clumsy. It appeared that he did need to get used to walking around without his suit after all. "Atra esterni ono thelduin." Why was she glaring at him with such a threatening stance? Had he done something wrong?

Five seconds of silence quickly became ten, then fifteen. Then, finally, Daenlith replied. "Atra du evarinya ono varda. Who…what are you?"

He frowned. Her words were confusing. "Spartan," he replied. Recognition gleamed in her eyes, but her face remained its stoic appearance.

"Preposterous," she whispered. He had used that word to describe things too. It was usually followed by proof that the matter at hand was in fact not preposterous. But when he felt her mind reaching out to him, he understood that his appearance must have made some serious impact on her. The mental probe wasn't intended to be hostile or penetrative, but its power still outweighed that of Raia. He immediately banished all thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the image of his assault rifle. Aeraleth joined him in his mind and held down the line, while he attempted to circumvent the probe. He could almost feel Daenlith's mind from the other side of the probe and what he felt, he did not like. Her mind was even more alien than Raia's was –and she was the result of disembodied spirits hijacking a human mind. Were all elves this complicated?

A memory of their previous conversation flashed through his mind. "You said mental conversations were considered intimate," he reminded her.

The probing sensation ceased immediately and the elf averted her gaze. "Apologies, Spartan. These days, one can not be certain of radical changes."

"The error is mine," he replied. "I should have warned you of my approach beforehand."

"Join me inside," she said. When he followed her inside of her house, she added: "Is this what you look like without your armor?"

"Yes." Her house had an interesting design; there were flowers, portraits, wooden chairs and a few pretty cabinets. But there was also a small rack of elven swords, which looked thinner and more elegant than human swords. They also looked rather unpractical, but that was just his opinion. "I did not mean to disturb you."

"You did not –perhaps initially, yes." Daenlith was forced to change her sentence, as the Ancient Language prevented her from lying. So he had disturbed her initially? "I had never expected a human to look like that."

So it was his appearance? He was aware of the fact that he didn't exactly look like a human, even without his armour. On the rare occasion that he did walk around without his suit, it was hard for anyone to spot him as anything but a Spartan; the augmentations, coupled with constant training and fighting, had left him in a physical peak seen in very little men or women. He was taller than most –standing just about as tall as an elf, if not taller- and while he wasn't unnecessarily bulky, his muscles were still prominent. When body-builders 'built' their bodies, they basically overstretched their muscles to bulge, which was what some ODST's did. Because of a combination of both the augmentations as the years of combat since early childhood, his body simply looked different from most humans. That had to be why Daenlith was unsettled.

Only…he was wearing tunics. They weren't tight and they were not revealing, at least the male tunics weren't…and he was very sure that he was wearing a male one. "I apologize."

She gave him a surprised look. "Why would you? You are not at fault, are you?"

He had no idea if he was. So he shrugged.

"I was rude for attempting to invade your mind. Elves do not normally care about appearances but…humans tent to look alike. At least in my view. It seems I was partially mistaken."

"Partially?"

She sat down in one of the chairs and mentioned for him to do the same. He was reluctant at first, but then he reminded that he didn't weight half a ton anymore and he sat down nonetheless. A piece of wood should just carry him fine, even though he did not like sitting very much. "Few men stand taller than elves do. Younglings even less. Your eyes are also rare among humans."

He felt a stab of annoyance. Who was she calling a youngling? So she was over a century old, what of it? He had probably seen more conflict than many a soldier had, including her. "I am not a youngling. I fought in dozens of battles."

"Can you name one of our poets whom you enjoy then?" The elf asked, taking a different road. It appeared that, despite their earlier dispute, she still felt at ease. She was sitting cross-legged and one of her hands was playing with a small, black lint. "Or one of the songs that we sing in the evening? Perhaps an artist that you appreciate?"

He stared at her with a blank expression. Art? She was talking about art? He sensed that Aeraleth was paying close attention to their conversation, but she didn't come to his aid. He was on his own. "I liked the singing we heard near Silthrim."

"The Dagshelgr Invocation?" Daenlith asked. "That…that is not what I meant, Spartan."

Staring at her again, he thought about the meaning of her words. Art…"Art is irrelevant."

The elf sighed and fixed piece of fabric in her hair with inhuman precision. In the time it took him to reload a pistol, she bundled her hair together in a large tail and tied the clothing around it in a little bow.

"Customs then? Do you have cultural customs? Preferences concerning your clothes? Wishes for a future beyond the war, perhaps?"

"…no."

She looked at him, wisdom and amusement obvious in her expression. "Youngling I say. I fear that your education prior to arriving Du Weldenvarden was obsessively focused on the art of war. Or do you enjoy war that much?"

"No," he firmly said. Anyone who enjoyed war was a fool. No man wishes for warfare and those that claimed they did, had never fought in one before. But she did raise a valid point…he knew over a hundred different ways to kill his foes, over a dozen ways to destroy enemy armour and limitless ways to use tactics and strategies to destroy his foe. He knew biology, physics and chemistry, astronomy… all other forms of knowledge that seemed mundane at first, but always served to bolster his knowledge of war. In a way, he only knew how to win a war.

The only things that weren't war-related were the things that Oromis taught him. The idea had seemed stupid and foolish to him at first, but now…it became apparent that he lacked the knowledge he needed to properly function in society. "I don't like war. But it is all I know. All that I needed to know. "

"Some say that children are separated by adults not only by experience, but innocence as well," Daenlith said. "When it comes to knowledge of warfare, you might well among the wisest in Ellesméra. When it comes to everything else…I believe that any child could tell me more than you. Not everything is war."

The fact that she said everything in the ancient language made her words a bit harsh. But she was right and that was where his biggest issue lay; he didn't know a thing that might help him in a life after war. Well…that wasn't completely right. "I can make a fairth."

Daenlith chuckled. It was a pure, musical sound that didn't last long enough. It seemed that the elves' mere vocal expressions could enchant those around them. "Everyone can make a fairth, Spartan."

"A fairth is not war."

"So it isn't. A fairth is not about war indeed. Why did you come to seek me? I take it that you do not wish to meet one of our gifted musicians?"

"I wanted to spar with you," he sheepishly replied. A fairth wasn't war-related…learning how to fight with a sword was. But he was a soldier; wasn't it his duty to specialize for combat?

Much to his surprise, Daenlith got to her feet and walked to the wall with the swords attached to it. "Very well then. Is that why you took your armour off?"

"Partially," he said. "Mostly for Aeraleth."

"Because it weighs so much, I see. I thought you felt uncomfortable without it?"

"I do," he said, grabbing one of the swords that the elf handed him.

"Are you uncomfortable now?"

Uncomfortable? Without his armour? In the presence of someone who had managed to verbally smack him down like Oromis or even the queen had not by simply thinking of something he hadn't? While he was going to spar with someone for the first time since years, using swords that looked like they wouldn't be able to survive the first hit? Sure, why not? "Yes."

Daenlith smiled and let him to the courtyard, where Aeraleth was lying. "Good."

How was uncomfortable even remotely good?

They took their positions in front of each other. Maine remembered something about bowing to your partner, but that had been during martial art lessons from before the augmentations.

"First, blunt your blade."

He used the incantation to dull the edge of the elven sword. Despite its light weight, it didn't feel fragile. Elven metal? Like the Riders' swords?

As soon as he was finished, Daenlith lashed out at him. She took two quick steps to close the distance and then opened with an incredibly fast, diagonal slash from her left shoulder, aimed at his neck. He instantly moved to deflect her blow and was surprised to see that the two swords didn't snap like branches under all that stress. He could feel the elf's strength from that attack and while it wasn't superior to an Elite, it felt like it was better controlled. Once again, the elves did everything with a refined elegance.

And while Daenlith wasn't stronger than an Elite, Maine too was not stronger than an Elite. He couldn't make assumption about her prowess after just the first strike, as no warrior would use all their strength in one blow.

There were many ways to disarm a sword-wielding opponent, but Daenlith was no elite and he didn't want to hurt her by going for her limbs with his own hands. This was a sword match, after all.

As soon as their blades had met, Daenlith pulled her blade in the other direction and stepped closer, seeking to strike him with the pommel. He sidestepped and brought his blade to her neck, but she lowered herself to dodge the strike and whipped her own blade through the air, aiming at his side. He narrowly blocked her with his own and then, before he could go on the offense himself, Daenlith stepped back and thrust her sword at his head. Once more he sidestepped and once more the elf moved in a similar way, keeping up with him with ease. Three more blows they exchanged, before he swung his sword down in a descending arc in an attempt to bypass her defenses. She then imitated his sidestep, only she created more distance between the two of them and performed a horizontal slash. Her sword pinged against his ribs with surprising force before his attack could hit her and he took two large steps backwards, confused.

How had she managed to outmaneuver him like that?

He gripped his sword again and resumed his assault. This time, he decided to use his superior reflexes and overwhelm her with a flurry of attacks. He slashed at her neck using a diagonal slash, which she then blocked. Immediately he whipped his sword over his head and attacked from the other shoulder, in the opposite direction. That too she blocked and again, he moved his sword. Faster and faster they exchanged their blows, until she broke the pattern of spun around him, slashing at his side. He moved his sword low, with the point aimed at the ground, redirecting her attack to a point behind him. But she was too sharp to fall for that technique and when he swung his sword vertically at her chest, she took a step backwards. She seemed to understand that jumping in a fight was suicide, as the foe would be able to predict where you landed. But he understood that the initiative, once taken, could be lethal. When he found that his attack had missed, he stepped closer and swung at her again. And again. And again. Each time she parried his blows until finally, she maneuvered her sword in-between his arms and jabbed at his ribs. Successfully.

Maine disengaged once more and realized that this was a foe he couldn't beat using superior reflexes or strength. She was leagues better than Vanir was…and he had to admit that her technique was also better than his.

"You fight extremely well for a human," Daenlith remarked.

He opened his mouth to reply, but immediately shut it again. If she knew about his augmentations, she would be disgusted with him. And he didn't want that. Things were finally going better than normal with someone and he felt like he actually had someone he could trust in this forest of the elves. He didn't want to ruin that.

So he took the compliment silently and assumed a new stance. That was two times she had hit him…that would end. He wouldn't keep back, as it was apparent that her strength was very close to his. In his suit, he would be able to overpower her. Without it? She was as good as he was. Better even.

The two of them clashed once more. All of his training with sword-fighting came back to him and he gradually improved his stance; it wouldn't work to force the sword up and down with your biceps and triceps, you had to use your wrist to do properly move it.

"Your feet, Spartan," Daenlith called and he immediately shifted his front leg, which had been standing turned a few degrees. He closed in on her and exchanged several high-speed blows, which loud noises that seemed to bother Aeraleth, as she suddenly shifted and-

The elf whipped her blade out and pointed it at his neck, to which he responded by lifting his sword with one hand and moving the other hand away from her, indicating that she had him. Back when he had still been learning how to fight, he had once made the mistake of not immediately declaring his trainer the victor. It had resulted in several bashes with the wooden sword and a painful wristlock, executed with him on his stomach and the sword pressed painfully against his throat. He wouldn't make the same mistake now.

"Tis but pratice, Spartan. You need not panic."

"The way I was taught, not doing that would have resulted in a continued attack."

"Then you were taught by a fool."

That sounded very arrogant of her. Humans weren't elves, but a true human swords-master –augmented of course- would outmatch her. Elves didn't seem to follow one form of martial art, while humans had things such as Kendo and Kenjutsu. Still, he had been trained in Kendo and he had still been beaten by her. Her technique was simply better than his…and that was frustrating in a way.

"He worked with what he could. " How else were you going to teach children, after all? Loser got beaten, winner got dinner

Maine then resumed the match, but soon it started to drag out. Eventually, they fought each other for at least fifteen minutes before Daenlith pulled a clever trick by jabbing at his toes. He was wearing UNSC grade boots, reinforced to protect the toes, but he didn't want to risk a blow by an elf.

Then, thinking he had an opening, he stepped to the side and swung at her hip, but she seemed to have expected that move from him. With one hand, she slashed her sword upwards and smote him across his ribs.

He exhaled sharply and disengaged. "How did you know that?" he demanded.

"It was the only option you had left. Had you stepped backwards, your neck would have been open. Had you stepped to four left, I would have hit your foot. The right was your only option."

"Why the feet? That's not lethal."

"Few men can stand a severed foot in battle."

"Few elves can live without a head."

"You didn't hit me, did you?"

"…no."

So she was going to play it like that? Fine. One more time, he assumed a martial position and waited for Daenlith to attack him. He then fought her in a defensive manner, moving only to intercept and parry, only a few times to drive her backwards. His reflexes were still better than hers and he had the feeling that he was also stronger. So when she delivered the vertical swing at his head, he let go of his sword with his left hand and stepped closer to the right. He grabbed her sword-wrist, stepped past her and forced her to spin around to keep facing him. Then he moved the pommel of his sword to her face, forcing her to lean backwards to avoid it. That was what he needed, as it would prevent her from retaliating. He stepped underneath her still stretched arm and pulled her with him, flipping her over her head.

She landed on the ground and he knelt besides her, intent on placing his sword at her throat, but she had somehow managed to retain her grasp on her sword –which should have been impossible- and before he could bring his sword down, her own blade flashed out and parried his move, forcefully tapping him against his neck. Purple spots dashed across his vision, but he forced himself to remain focused. Breathing could come later. Daenlith was still lying on her side on the ground and his blade was still near her. Instead of her throat, he pointed his sword against her rips.

"What did you do?" She demanded, sounding insulted somehow.

"Few elves can fight from the ground."

"Few riders can stand a slashed neck."

They carefully disengaged their swords and he offered his hand to pull her upright. She didn't take it –either because she didn't see it or because she was insulted- and jumped to her feet. "Never before has a human dirtied me." She didn't look at him

"My apologies."

Daenlith then turned around to reply, but stopped herself and decided to stare at his neck instead.

"What-"

"I did not mean to hurt you," she softly said and pressed two slender fingers against his neck.

"What do you-"

She put pressure with her hand and a lance of pain shot through his throat. Had she actually marked his neck with her blade? That wasn't even frustrating; that was impressive.

"I believe," she softly said with an inscrutable expression, "that we have crossed our blades enough for today. You should go to your teacher now."

She placed her sword back at her hip and then showed him the exit. Aeraleth didn't comment, but instead flew out to meet him outside of the house.

Daenlith was about to close the door again, but Maine was finally able to think of something proper and honest to say before she did so. "Thank you."

She hesitated, then said: "You appearance unsettled me today. In hindsight, you should have taken your armour off sooner. Goodbye, Spartan."

He looked at Aeraleth and Aeraleth looked at him.

'_You were bested by her,' _she commented.

'_I noticed.'_

'_You are different without your armour. Less certain…almost shy.'_

'_She thought me different too.' _He considered for a few seconds and then carefully asked: '_Why are my eyes rare among humans? Is that…a bad thing?'_

The black dragon snorted and a cloud of smoke exited her nostrils. '_They are brighter than the scales of Saphira. This I have never seen before, in any of the two-legged races. It is only as bad as you make it though.'_

Just what he needed; more ways to get attention. Great. '_So…to Oromis then?'_

'_To Oromis and Glaedr, then.'_

'_Don't embarrass yourself with him.'_

'_You can't even follow your own words. You always seem to embarrass yourself.'_

'…_Daenlith has centuries of experience with the sword.'_

'_So now she has more experience than you?'_

'_In that form of fighting, yes.'_

'_She is right, you know? Not everything has to be related to war. Peace must come eventually.'_

'_I have yet to see that.'_

'_You won't like it; you would need to be tutored like a child every day.'_

'_As opposed to?'_

'_Ah, you are right. Let us leave for the cliffs then…and await their reaction.'_

His stomach lurched. He had totally forgotten about Oromis and Eragon and the fact that they would also see him without his suit. This day was _not _going to end pretty. Perhaps he would visit Daenlith again though. Sparring was war-related, but fairths were not. He could always share some knowledge that couldn't be directly used in warfare, to show that he did know other things.

…he was going to need Oromis' help for that.


	19. Proper views pt I

"_Specialist Sunfield. It has come to my attention that you have worries regarding the second generation of Spartan-II's and their different form of augmentations?"_

"_Yes Colonel. I have read the files about their augments…even the ones that I was eventually refused, much to my chagrin. You were stated to have used a cocktail of illegal drugs and other agents to alter the frontal lobes of the Spartans. But why? Surely their combat prowess is large enough without having to tinker with their brains?"_

"_Specialist, you do not seem to understand. We were –are- at war for our very survival. Colonel Ackerson's death at the hands of the brutes was very unfortunate, as he possessed a mind that could come up with just the right projects that this war needed to be won, including the needs to make sure that your worries are in vain. He made sure that the right supply of antipsychotics and bipolar-integration drugs was available to the Spartans."_

"_I do not think the payoff is in their favor, Colonel. Two-Sierra eleven for example has been missing for months at an end now; I shudder at the thought of what he must have become."_

"_His position is unfortunate, yet acceptable. Yours however, is not. Admiral Parangosky is growing tired of your constant meddling –probably due to Halsey giving her a headache- so if I were you, I'd be really careful of what you are pushing your nose into."_

"_Are you…threatening me, Colonel?"_

"_Lady, I'm saving your ass."_

-conversation between Mental Health Specialist J. Sunfield and Colonel Moore, replacement colonel for the Secret-Spartan-II project.

* * *

Lady Nasuada watched the last soldier disappear between two houses and sighed explosively.

"As if the constant pressure of leading an army isn't enough," she scowled. "Now we have to deal with soldiers who came from the stars as well!"

"Be calm my lady," Raia replied with a smug. "These men have offered their skills to our cause."

"Do not seek to patronize me, Raia. I do not know what it is this Captain Wren seeks, but it is not the Varden's victory. "

"It is obvious that they seek Spartan," the Shade replied. She had carefully analyzed those soldiers' every spoken word and she had gleamed multiple double meanings from the way they moved, talked and looked. Normally, she would have thought it strange that humans were so capable at hiding their emotions, but Spartan had been hiding the fact that he had been suffering from her drug for days, so she should have expected the same stoic attitude from his people. They weren't as masterful in the gifts as hiding your emotions as he was, but they were gifted nonetheless.

"Yes…_the _Spartan. He has told us before that he is part of an Elite group…I had never understood just what he meant though."

Raia had. She had just not wanted to think about the idea that there might be more warriors like him. It was disturbing in a way, but his existence was painful enough as it was. Still, the fact that the people that were supposedly _his _people all appeared as normal humans gave her hope. It was obvious that they had somehow tinkered with the Spartan's mind and body, but how? And why? "I think that he is still the only one of his kind on this world. They talked as if they needed _him _specifically."

"I know. And what strange world did they come from that magic doesn't exist? Surely humans would have some capable magicians…"

Raia snickered. "They have rapid-firing crossbows that tear through every ward with a few shots. I don't think they need magic where they came from."

"Still, the Spartan spoke of a bloody war in which he had fought. I think magic would have had some good use in there." Nasuada fell quiet as she continued to ponder the past conversations. As soon as Wren's team had left, both the human and the shade had traveled to the outer ridges of the wall, where they could follow the trio of soldiers. It was unfortunate that they hadn't been able to learn anything new. But then again, neither had Raia expected to. "And what about you? Do you trust them?"

Raia didn't reply immediately, as the question meant more than it seemed. Nasuada insinuated that she didn't trust their new allies, which she could understand. The Captain had spoken with a curtesy rarely seen in soldiers, yet he had been stern and to-the-point. In the very first few minutes of the conversation, he had made it exceedingly clear that he and his team wanted to know where the Spartan was above all else. They were dependent on him to such a degree that they were willing to shed blood to get him back. Why they would side with the Varden though…the empire had made them suffer? What could that be about…"I think," she slowly said, "that only the Spartan's presence can determine if they are to be trusted. When he returns, they will either prove to be valuable allies, or betray us and leave with him at the first possibility."

"Those are some negative views on the coming period," Nasuada dryly remarked. "Yet, if their weapons prove to be as effective as the Spartan's, they might be able to inflect heavy casualties on the enemy. And sooner is better than later, as I intent to move the Varden to the front lines as quickly as possible."

"What?" Raia replied, aghast. "You will take the fight to the empire so soon? With this amount of men?"

"I am no fool Raia; I know that we cannot beat Galbatorix like this. But…with Eragon and Spartan as our lances, we can carve a path through his kingdom."

"Carve a path through his kingdom…I see."

"Is there anything you wish to say to me, Raia?"

"Not really. Only…when I was still in the Empire, I heard many rumors about the Varden."

Nasuada crossed her arms. "I'll bet. What off them?"

"Well, the Empire flagged the Varden as terrorists. Not freedom-fighters, as they deliberately separated themselves from the Empire, but terrorists. Fighting an empire that functions well and a king who doesn't commit any atrocities."

"Is that a fact?" Nasuada scowled. "The king wishes to portray us like _that?_ When he is the one who destroyed the Riders of old, nearly murdered all the dragons and usurped the throne?"

"Yeah, not many people know that," Raia replied. It was funny how short-sighted Nasuada was when faced with the simple truth. "Most of that happened a long time ago and I don't know if you realized it yet, but humans don't tend to live that long."

"So? Brom knew and spread the truth!"

Ah yes, Brom. The ex-Rider whose dragon was killed at the hands of Morzan. "The old story-teller who lived in a small village? I don't think he counts."

"But the people must support us," Nasuada insisted. "After all, he has been oppressing them for years!"

"Not where I looked. In the capital, the people don't have any problems."

"But in the other cities? Dras-Leona supports a slave-trade…Galbatorix has allied himself with the urgals, went to destroy Yazuac and used Ra'zac to hunt Eragon down! How does he justify that?"

"The people believe he wants to destroy the urgals, nobody here knows I'm a Shade, so why do you even use the Ra'zac as an argument? I don't know about the slave-trade though…"

"This is very worrying…" The woman mused. "I did not consider that the king's propaganda goes so extremely deep…I need to arrange a meeting with the Council of Elders. Or," she quickly added with a hint of humor once she saw the shade's skeptical expression, "Council of Elder. There has been quite a change in the diplomatic properties of the Varden. Courtesy of the Spartan."

"He's been good for a lot of people," Raia replied. Nasuada nodded and then averted her gaze, staring at a loose rock on the wall. The shade remembered that Spartan had saved Ajihad's life, but that the enchanted weapons had made it extremely difficult for the man to heal. It had been Durza's work; making people suffer through their injuries was one of his specialties. Ajihad was suffering from the same scars as Eragon was and while Eragon and his elven friend had permitted Raia to help, the same thing had not happened with Ajihad to a significant degree There just wasn't enough trust yet.

But she could understand that. She had helped to stop the man's pain and that was all that he needed. In just a few weeks, he would be ready to assist Nasuada in leading the Varden. But for now, he needed to rest.

"He has…"Nasuada sighed. "But he isn't from this world. If his people wish to take him away, _I _can't say a thing about it."

"He's also a Rider," Raia replied, starting to feel a bit uncomfortable with Nasuada's sudden feelings. "He's got Aeraleth…and he has responsibilities for the country. They can't just leave with him."

But it didn't appear like the human was listening to her. "Even if we are to face Galbatorix some day. There will be no saying if we can ever beat him."

"Did you _see _Spartan fight?" Raia sneered.

"Listen to me fretting like a little child," Nasuada then said, sounding disgusted with herself. "I should get back to work. Raia…?"

"I want to find out about a few things," the Shade replied with a smug. The trio of soldiers had been piquing her interest and if she wanted to learn anything about her only 'human' friend among the Varden –not that he was with the Varden at the moment- she would have to do so by skulking around in the dark.

But she liked skulking around in the dark, so…

"Just be careful," Nasuada replied and straightened herself, turning to leave her presence. "If you get caught spying on them, I never knew of your idea."

"Sounds right to me,' Raia replied. When Nasuada had left to return to her quarters, the shade checked if anyone was actively manning the walls, before she took a leap and jumped over the fortification. The castle was approximately 13 meters high, which meant that she had to compensate for only the last few meters. As much as she despised being a shade in body, she had to admit that the physical perks were useful at times. Her enhanced body was capable of withstanding forces that would immediately kill a human or dwarf and it could do so with ease. She had been like this for…a year? Perhaps two? Not very long, anyway. It had taken her multiple battles to finally get used to being many times stronger and faster than other living beings. She had been shot with arrows and stabbed by a sword and yet, that hadn´t killed her. Not like Spartan had killed her, anyway.

She formulated an incantation and spoke it to nullify the force on her body on the last second. Her knees absorbed the brunt of the shock and the rose within a second to avoid suspicion. The energy-drain that stopping a freefall of three meters took on her, was nothing compared to the vast reserves of energy that her body possessed. On the average day she could cast more spells than an elf spellcaster could. This was very fortunate for her, as she had been forced to cast many such complicated spells during her many missions. She would have liked to think that she had stopped thinking about the possibilities of her body, but everytime she was confronted with any of the sentient races, she automatically stopped to think about her position. She was forced to hide her true nature, as her kind was despised wherever it went. But she was so much stronger and sharper than them…it wasn't fair.

But she had pledged herself to the Spartan, with his peculiar way of viewing the world. His existence proved to her that there were still _humans_ out there who didn't care for what she was. The only prerequisite to such a human was that he had to come from the stars, but still. Her mistress wasn't human, that Raia could tell, but she too accepted her for what she was. The two of them were so similar to each other…why had fate played them as enemies against each other?

She exhaled softly and focused on what needed to be done. For now, her goal was to find out more about these mysterious visitors of the Varden's. They were connected to the Spartan and potentially a threat to the Varden. Her benefactor specifically ordered her to protect the Varden, so that was what she was going to do. And if protecting meant spying on his allies, so be it.

Besides; from what she had seen in the Spartan's mind, he didn't give much about these people.

She made her way past the houses that she had seen the three soldiers pass and concentrated on the scent that they had left. Raia had always had a super-developed sense of smell, which had allowed her to track her prey down on more than one occasion. It had also allowed her to eventually track the dragon egg, but that was a different scenario altogether. She did not like to think about the time she had lost herself in her bloodlust to kill her Rider. Had she been sent after Eragon, she was sure that things could have ended up completely different. The kid, naïve and undisciplined, was nothing compared to the Spartan. He would have ended up crippled, as she would have probably taken one of his legs off, and then taken to her mistress. And benefactor or no benefactor, Eragon would have been much better off with the king than _her_. Raia's mistress did not particularly like humans.

She banished the many, many other scents out of her concentration and muttered a spell that she had invented for her own usage. It allowed her to ´see´ certain odours, as they were. Using that spell, she had been capable of tracking down the Spartan and his dragon and just like that, she was capable of tracking down his people too. Their scent appeared as a ghastly grey trail, spreading through the various buildings and other structures.

Raia sighed. She could see so many things nowadays…she could see the magical coloration of Riders as they used their arcane abilities (Eragon's was blue, Spartan's was pitch-black) and, with a little help of magic, she could also see the coloration of her targets and the structural weaknesses of various living beings. Sometimes she wondered if it was natural to be able to do so many things that humans couldn't; whether a being that was created to kill, maim and hurt with the upmost efficiency could ever be fit to live in a world that should have been peaceful by all other means. At those days, she always tried to think of the things that made her life tolerable for her. The kindness of her mistress, the cold sensation of the wind on her skin, the scent of a new season. Most of the times that was enough to calm her spirit and steel her mind, but not always. At those days she felt a bit unstable. More prone to mistakes than other days.

The snakelike body of the grey scent-trial led her around the busiest buildings in the city, through varies alleys and places that had been abandoned for a long time. They reminded her of the dark hallways she used to visit once her bloodthirst had grown too powerful to stomach. There always were humans lurking in the darkness there, thinking that they had found easy prey. Alas, those humans were not found here. Her way was not hampered in any manner, as the sky had yet to turn dark and the people of Aberon had better things to do than waiting for the unwary. It was better that way though; she would not get distracted by the foolish. The trail of her quarry led her through these alleys and towards the markets, where a group of people was just finishing up with packing their crates and moving them.

Raia checked if her hood was still where it belonged and then crossed the marketplace, taking great care not to move with the natural speed and force that was normal for one of her physiology. Because of her enhanced body, it was very easy to move in a way that humans saw as 'superhuman'. She didn't want the unnecessary attention at a moment that was so important to her, so she had to move at the same sluggish and awkward pace that the other warriors seemed to waggle with. She hated having to hide who she truly was, but she had made a promise that she would keep a low profile and help to the best of her capabilities. And so far, Nasuada had seemed supportive of her orders. As long as the army stayed confined to Surda, she wouldn't be having much trouble in pretending to be human. But now that Nasuada wanted to march to war…it would become extremely hard for her to keep herself concealed. The army needed every able-bodied warrior it could get and as a shade, her combat-abilities were beyond that of even the most capable elf-warriors. The Varden would need her in the days to come but…her mistress was also going to need her in the days to come.

The trail led past another two houses, where it turned a sharp right and disappeared from her eye. Why had the soldiers chosen to take such a garbled path through the city? What had they hoped to gain by that, if not losing potential trackers? It would not matter either way, but still…

Raia made her way through the dark alley, her footsteps barely making any sound as she tried to think of a proper reason for the soldiers to have arrived at Alagaesia. Spartan had said that their ship had broken down ´above´ the ´planet´, which sort of meant that he had been stranded in Alagaesia. But what craft could possibly traverse the stars? What civilization could possibly create a ship that could enter the sky?

She rounded the corner and immediately ran into the younger male of the trio, armed with some black weapon that she recognized as extremely-lethal. The man pointed the weapon at her, holding it with both hands at the lower part, as if it was a crossbow of some sort –which it probably was. His stance indicated that he was ready for combat; his feet were positioned a good fifty centimeters apart, stabilizing him. His center of mass was aimed directly at her and his eyes were concentrated on her head.

"Freeze!" He snapped at her. In the two seconds that it took Raia to analyze the situation, the soldier took two steps backward to avoid a conflict at close range. There weren't any other soldiers with him, so he had probably stayed behind to chase her off as a rear guard. But how? How had he known she was there? He had seen her the first time, back when she had stalked the group to the castle, but she hadn't even laid her eyes on him and his group this time! "Don't move-"

Too late. She darted forward, thinking that she could easily dodge whatever projectile he could fire. His hand jerked, his weapon made a sound like thunder and a hot, painful jab of pain pulled through her shoulder. But her momentum kept her going and before the soldier could fire again, she struck at his chest with the palm of her hand, seeking to incapacitate instead of kill.

But the soldier was fast –faster than any normal human she had fought before. He bashed at her arm with his weapon and hastened to step aside, narrowly avoiding a powerful hit. He didn't seem to move with the superhuman reflexes that were characteristic of the Spartan though, as she was still capable of following him. It was more like he moved as a conditioned animal; she performed an action and he responded with an almost choreographed accuracy, preventing himself from being hurt.

But she was still far faster than he was. He retaliated by throwing a punch at her face, which she dodged with ease. Then she lashed out with her leg and nearly hit his head, but he ducked at the last moment and she hit a wall instead. The bricks shattered and pieces of debris fell to the ground as her kick sheared through the stones.

"Holy shit," the man exclaimed, but he did not disengage. Instead, he whipped out a knife and attacked her again. Curious…a human who did not flee from her inhuman behavior? Now he had her attention. Also, what was 'shit'? Why did he declare it sacred?

The soldier held his knife in the same way as the Spartan did and as he slashed at her arm with it, she started to see that he used it in a totally different way. The Rider used his knife to almost literarily create openings and immediately use them, killing his enemies with lethal precision. This human however used his knife purely to drive her back and limit her movements. It didn't seem to work though, as whatever gash he managed to open on her arms would just immediately heal again. She allowed him to connect several fancy-looking movements on her right arm, kicked him weakly against his legs and forced him backwards. The soldier rolled over his shoulder and got back to his feet within two seconds of having fallen, which was enough for her to show him her regenerating arm.

His response did not fail to amuse her. "Seriously?" He said, his shoulders sagging and his expression annoyed. He wasn't trying to kill her, as his first attack had nailed her in her shoulder and his subsequent attacks were all aimed at her arms. Why wasn't he trying to kill her? She had been stalking him and his group and he had been waiting in an ambush for her. Why would he hold back? "That's cheating."

No, it wasn't. She was just making use of local resources. Raia smiled under her hood, satisfied with the combat prowess of this man. It wasn't every day that she encountered someone who was not only brave enough to stand his ground, but who also managed to hold his own in a fight against her. She wasn't being serious with him of course; killing him would make for a diplomatic incident that would only worsen the relation between these people and the Varden and…it was so unnecessary. There was really no reason for her to kill him now –all she had to do was put him to sleep and then track the rest of the forces.

And she had to be honest with herself; she was really enjoying toying around with this human, wondering when he was going to break down and beg for his life.

She flashed him a smile, baring her sharpened teeth in the process, before moving to resume the fight. She took a step forwards and then took some metal projectile to her leg, which smashed its way through her knee and kept going, tearing through another wall behind before it escaped her senses. Over time, she had learned to stop pain from bothering her. It generally took powerful magic or otherwise lethal attacks to even hurt her, let alone stop her. But this attack…these weapons were so extremely capable that she actually stumbled and lost her balance due to the attack. She had thought that she had come to understand the nature of these weapons due to the Spartan's usage of them, but she was very wrong.

"Stay back or the next one goes between your eyes!" The man snapped at her, a determined look in his eyes.

Raia's knee reformed itself within seconds of having been shattered and she regained her balance. She had been shot with a thing exactly like that in the head before and it had _not _been a nice experience. So despite the fact that she had this fight in her pocket, she stayed put.

"What are you?" the man demanded, risking a quick look over his shoulder in the process. People were coming running to the location of the loud noises of the weapon, but they hadn't located them thus far. She leered at him, hoping to play at his feeble human nerves instead of openly fighting him. She could eliminate him with a single word, but that was so _pointless. _But the soldier didn't appear to lose his nerves because of her staring; when she didn't answer him, he continued asking awkward questions. "You followed us to the castle too. Why? Who are you?"

Raia found herself seriously considering answering this human's questions. He had fought her bravely, using skills rarely seen in human warriors. But she could not forget how he had taunted her and insulted her first friend aside from her mistress. Had he been any normal human, he would have paid with his life for that.

"I'm getting a real headache from all this weird-ass bullshit," the soldier then said. "Goddamn magic, freaking alien nonsense."

"Says the man from the stars," she retorted.

"Yeah, but that's tech! We built a ship that flies, simple as that! We don't follow other people by their scent, we don't… we don't read minds or set things on fire without setting it on fire! What is this place? Who are you?"

"Still scared of a little magic, eagle-eye?" she taunted the man. "Did the scary lady frighten you?"

"Well," he replied and inclined with his head. "Things rarely scare me these days, but damn…I've almost never seen something get capped in the knee and then keep going." He fell silent, then reluctantly added: "Did uh…did your shoulder heal too, by any chance?"

She scoffed. "Of course."

"Good," the soldier then said. "The Cap's going to have my ass in a sling if he caught me killing the locals." When she continued glaring at him in silence, he decided to simply keep talking. He sure was a talkative idiot, this man. "You know, next time someone tells you to freeze, you better stop moving. Just…just a tip, for the future. You know."

He glanced over his shoulder again and she used moment to close the distance between the soldier and herself. She was growing very tired of talking under the threat of such an advanced weapon; she was willing to talk, but not like this. They would talk on her terms. The looked back at her and his eyes went wide when he realized his mistake. Before he could fire his weapon, Raia snatched the weapon from his grip and blocked the counterattack that followed up on her movement, preventing herself from being skewered by the man's knife.

"What-"

She grunted and reared backwards, stunned by a quick jab that had hit her in her face. When had the soldier done that? How had he _managed_ that?

The man looked from her right hand, which held his weapon, to her left hand, which had a knife jammed through it. It appeared that she had gotten sloppy and presented her opponent with an opening. "Stop that!" The man snapped at her.

Raia snickered. Rarely had she ever had a proper fist-fight with a human that didn't immediately end up with the human's death. Spartan was an exception that she didn't want to think about too much, as the two times he had managed to best her had both been followed up with pretty painful executions. "Oh, you're good alright, eagle-eye," she sneered. But she was done fooling around with him now; she wanted information and she was going to get it. After all, _he _had started this confrontation. She pulled the weapon out of his hand and then removed the knife, throwing it aside. Then she reached out and seized the man by his throat, lifting him off the ground with ease.

"Ark!" He grunted and retaliated by weakly slapping ay her wrist, which really wasn't as effective as he had probably hoped it would be. He had managed to blindside her with one technique, but that was where she drew the line. "Alright," the soldier then groaned. "What do _you _want?"

"A bit of this, a bit of that," she replied. His fighting spirit was…impressive. "But most of all, I want information."

"Sorry lady," he said with a smile that was awfully timed. "That's a no-go."

"Is it?" She asked and put a little more pressure on his throat. She was fairly certain that he could see her face by now, yet he was still putting on that little tough-guy act. Could it be that he didn't know what she was? These people didn't know of magic so…there was every possibility that there also weren't any shades on their world. That was a nice idea…but her reputation couldn't do anything for her now. This man did not fear her as he did not know what she was. Had he known, he would have probably cowered. "Try harder."

Raia spoke an incantation that placed an illusion at the exits of both alleys, making it appear to the outside as if a wall stood there. They wouldn't be interrupted anytime soon now.

"Yeah, I´ve been with the Office long enough to know that…that talkers don't live very long," the man muttered.

"I could kill you with a single word," she remarked.

"So could the old hag," the soldier countered.

…which hag? There were no older females on their team…were there?

"Besides," her victim continued, "I doubt I know enough to help."

Raia briefly considered killing him and be done with the whole thing, but…she really wanted that information.

"Tell you what," she said, as he man had not really been unwilling to help, "I release you and you don't run. Deal?"

The soldier replied with an incomprehensible groan and she realized that she had put a little too much pressure on his throat after all. Whoops.

"Yes?"

"Fine by me!" the man wheezed. She opened her hand and allowed the soldier to fall to the ground, where he coughed a few times and then rose to his feet again.

"Imma be honest here," he said as he rubbed his throat, "This shit was not in my plans. How the hell did you do that?"

"Do what?" asked Raia, feeling very annoyed with this whole thing.

"I've been hauled by my neck three times in my life," the man explained. "Well, four times…dad was a bit drunk. But the other times were all big, ugly aliens." He looked at her face. "You don't look like a big, ugly alien to me-"

Raia was _so _glad to hear that she wasn't big and ugly. "Charmer," she murmured.

"-so uh…how the hell did you do that? I mean…I mean you've been shot _twice _and then stabbed _twice _and you didn't bat an eye. Literarily. That all magic?"

"Not really," she remarked. "Humans generally can't heal more than a scratch."

"Ah," the man replied, sounding rather relieved for an explanation that marked her as nonhuman. "That's good. That's…very good. Wait…that insinuates that you aren't a human yourself, as you…you…" He fell silent when Raia lifted an eyebrow instead of vocally interrupting him. "That's uhh…well, you look human to me."

…what? What about her made her look human to him? She had the same amount of limbs and the same amount of head, but that was where the similarities ended.

"So what now? You're not going to eat me, right?" the man joked. It appeared like he was recovering his bigheaded attitude very quickly now.

"Not if you are a good boy and answer my questions," she replied.

"I can't tell you anything about things that I can't tell," the man then saw fit to notify her.

"Clearly."

"Shall we play the Captain's game then? An eye for an eye, a leg for a leg and an answer for an answer?"

Raia had no reason to humor him like this. She could simply break into his mind, rip the information from his thoughts and get rid of his body. But his death would raise complicated questions with the rest of his group and that would be the end of Nasuada's negotiations with these people. That and killing the man was so needles. He was willing to cooperate and despite the fact that he now knew she wasn't like him in any way, he still managed to keep a cool head and talk to her. In a way, Raia appreciated that. "Fine. What's your name?"

The man straightened his back and, with his elbow aimed directly away from his head, brought his hand to his head in some gesture. "Corporal Hudson, former member of the UNSC Marine Corps and unofficial spook. And who are you?"

"Raia," answered the woman simply. "A Shade with very little patience. What are you really doing in Surda?"

"Getting to know the friendly faces –ouch! Hey!"

Raia kicked him in his chest and dumped him to the ground without moving the rest of her body. "Cut the attitude. You're giving me a headache."

"Difficult audience huh? That's fine. I'm used to that. You should see the Sergeant when he wakes up –alright, fine! No curb-stomps please."

A little persuasion always worked fine. "Want to improve on your answer?"

"We're looking for someone who can tell us where the Spartan is."

Raia knew that there was no sure way of knowing whether this ´Hudson´ spoke the truth or not and she had no desire to force him to swear the truth in the Ancient Language. She would have to take his answers at face value here. "That all?"

But the man was as cheeky as he was funny. "My turn," he smiled and got to his feet again. "You said you were a…a 'shade'. What's that mean?"

She sighed. "It means that I am not a human. Shades are created when evil spirits possess a human body. Normally, they purge the human mind completely. Sometimes they don't. The end result stands before you, with greater strength and speed than most elves. And less patience than urgals, which is why I need you to focus. What are you going to do with the Spartan once you find him?"

Hudson frowned. "What's it to you? He's our soldier. No offense."

"Answer first."

"We're taking him back to the fight of course. So, my turn. Why do you care for him? You said you fought him, which can't have been all that pleasant if you ask me…"

"Nobody asked you."

Hudson looked at her with a skeptical expression. "No? I thought you were asking the questio –not my face, not my face!"

Raia would have never thought that she would grow tired of pinning human males under her boot, but…here entered Hudson. Why was it that these humans, who were physically the same as the ones in Alagaesia, were so extremely good in throwing her entire world out of order?

"I can already tell this is going to be a beautiful friendship," Hudson smiled. "Ow! I said not my face!"

Raia shook her head. What was _wrong_ with this human?

~0~

The Agaeti Blödhren was growing ever closer. In just three days, the celebration of the century was going to start and the Riders were going to be in the center of it all. Eragon had to admit that he was very nervous; his stomach lurched whenever he thought of the festival and the various rumors that he had heard about it. Oromis had said that there would be many dangers to mortals, as the elves were prone to going mad. "_Wonderful glorious madness, but madness all the same,"_ Eragon's master had said. He was to place spells of protection over himself and Orik to ensure that they wouldn't get hurt in the event, but…there was a haunting temptation in the prospect of losing one's mind. To be able to let go of the normal world and forget all your worries and fears…your thoughts of inadequacies and pains. It was something that Eragon could not indulge in.

Just yesterday he had shown his addition to the Blood-oath celebration to Oromis; his poem, which spoke about the events that had befallen him since he had gotten Saphira's egg in the Spine. Off his pain and suffering at the hands of Durza and his fear of one day facing Galbatorix. It was a truthful message that he was able to speak in the Ancient Language, despite the fact that it was still a poem. Art. And because he could speak it truthfully, he had been forced to face his own feelings. His fear was real and that made him even more scared of the days to come. Oromis had instructed him to perform several complicated elven breathing exercises to calm himself and he was doing just that when the Spartan finally arrived. As it was still relatively early in the morning, Eragon had expected the soldier and his black dragon to appear sooner than him. But he and Saphira had been alone this morning, much to his surprise. It wasn't like Spartan to be late.

"Tis about time," Oromis remarked when he saw the dragon approaching them. "How unlike him to be late…`

Aeraleth landed and a gush of wind washed over Eragon, forcing him to grab his tunic. _'_

Oromis stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back. "You are late, Spartan. Why did you not arrive with Eragon, twenty minutes ago?"

A man stepped off of Aeraleth and for one crazy moment, Eragon thought that a shade had appeared in the cliffs of the Mourning Sage. But the lack of red hair and the presence of some _very _strange clothes quickly destroyed that idea and it took him a while to realize that the Rider was, in fact, Spartan. But he did not look like how a proper human his age should look; he was all…wrong!

As Spartan approached them, Eragon caught himself nervously stepping back to avoid being noticed by his fellow Rider. He had always thought that Spartan's huge size became of his intricate and advanced armour, but that wasn't remotely true. The Rider was massive! He stood as tall as an urgal; standing taller than even Oromis, who was taller than most humans himself.

'_Saphira…Spartan is without his suit!'_ he shakily told his partner, who did not immediately reply. And when she did, she sounded a bit excited.

'_Do not stare at him ,Eragon. What does he look like?'_

Why did she ask him to not stare, only to demand something that required staring?

'_He looks strange,'_ Eragon told Saphira. Spartan was wearing dark elven tunics with a streak of red, which made him look like he had donned the clothing-version of his suit. But without his helmet…and how pronounced his head was. His eyes were extremely blue; they seemed to shine with a ghastly radiance that he had only thought possible for the scales of dragons. They did not even look like human eyes and their sole appearance was enough to make Eragon cringe and flinch.

And that skin…Eragon had thought Durza to be as pale as ice, but this…this 'human' was easily as white as any shade. His skin was so extremely pale that he could easily be a shade, had his eyes and hair been red.

"My apologies," Spartan replied to their teacher with his serious and gravelly voice, "the bad had developed a fault."

"Bad, Spartan?"

"I hadn't washed myself in a long time. After having sparred this morning, I felt the need to do so."

"And it…developed a fault?"

The Spartan stood at attention, with his heels together and his arms hanging at either side of his profoundly muscled body. Eragon had never seen any human with the same built as the Spartan; he wasn't as heavy or burly as the urgals or Kull were, but he was so much broader than the sleek elves were. He looked like a Kull turned elf or…an elf turned Kull. Either way it was really, _really _discouraging and once Eragon had recovered from his initial shock, his first thought was off Arya and whether the elf would see Spartan as a boy or a man.

"Yes ebrithil. Nothing worth nothing."

The elf nodded. "I see you have decided to don your tunic. Was it that color when you found it?"

"No ebrithil."

"Did you change it then?"

"For practice, yes."

"You…practiced on a set of clothing that you were supposed to wear?"

"Yes. Tested for the Agaeti Blödhren."

"Ah!" Oromis suddenly sounded less skeptical and more excited. "Yes. Eragon has already finished his piece of art. Have you finished yours?"

"Not yet. I need more…ingredients."

"Ingredients? What are you making?"

The Spartan didn't seem to possess his normal, calm attitude. He seemed a bit…reluctant. "I would rather keep that classified."

"Very well, if you are certain that you are making the right sort of art for the celebration, I shall not pressure you for it. You can tell me what you need after the training."

The soldier nodded and then marched over towards Oromis, with Aeraleth looking intently at the sky before she extended her large, bat-like wings again and took off again. Eragon did not doubt that the dragoness was heading towards Glaedr and Saphira.

"Eragon, you may watch if you wish to do so," Oromis told him and then headed inside of the hut.

Eragon, who wanted to watch the other Rider being tested very badly, nodded eagerly. "Thank you, master."

Before soon, Oromis retuned with his arms filled with various instruments and weapons of which Eragon only recognized half.

"I would first like to test your physical strength," Oromis explained. "Take this blade."

The Spartan was handed one of the simpler elven swords; a hand-and-a-half sword with a hilt long enough to hold with both hands without sacrificing maneuverability. Oromis picked up Naegling, his own sword, and then took up a position directly opposite of Spartan.

"This will not be an immediate test of your skill with the blade," Oromis stated. "I merely wish to find out your physical strength in the field."

"How?" Spartan asked, taking the metal sword and observing it keenly.

Oromis performed the guarding spell on his sword and beckoned for Spartan to do the same. "I will allow you to strike at me with your blade unopposed. Do not hold back your strength for now."

Spartan nodded and Eragon sat back against Oromis' hut, where he proceeded to watch the two elite warriors face off. Despite his master's statement that this was not meant to test the soldier's technique, Eragon couldn't help but feel awed. At first he had thought that the Spartan's power was either greatly exaggerated or somehow enhanced by a strange magic…or his armour or something. But he had witnessed the warrior's crazy strength at his 'duel' against Vanir and he had been extremely impressed. But Eragon remembered that the soldier had also said that his suit somehow enhanced his strength. How strong was he going to be without it?

"Do it," Oromis called and like a cat, the Spartan struck. He pounced at the aged elf and delivered a diagonal slash, which Oromis blocked with his sword. Despite the fact that the two blades were both created by the elves and were both enchanted to dull the sharp edge, they clashed together with such violence that Eragon honestly thought that they were going to break into little pieces. They did manage to produce a very audible "clang!" which bit at Eragon's ears.

Immediately after having struck his master, Spartan moved again. Like water his body flowed, his elegance undiminished by the loss of his suit. He whipped his sword over his head, faster than Eragon could follow, and brought it down on Oromis' blade. He moved like that several times and in the span that it took Eragon to wince at the painful sound of the first blow, Spartan struck at least four other times. With the last blow he battered the elf's blade aside and then stepped back for some reason.

Eragon soon realized that it had been Oromis who had signaled for the warrior to stop. "Enough," the Rider called. "We shall continue with your reflexes. I wish to lessen the tempo of these lessons with the Agaeti Blödhren in mind. You two need all the time you can muster to prepare. However, this does not mean that I shall downgrade our quality with the time spent. Spartan? Come join me at the table. Eragon? Come with us."

As the trio made their way to Oromis' hut, the older elf started explaining why he was performing this test. "It was has come to my attention that Spartan does not seem to possess the bodily skills one would normally expect in humans. Eragon? Can you tell me what you have noticed in your time with him?"

Eragon was surprised that his opinion was being asked in this manner. It had to be difficult for Oromis to constantly have to switch between two different teaching schedules and the Spartan's strange, otherworldly manners could not have a positive contribution to it all. "Well," he started, hoping that he would not somehow insult the other Rider, "back when he still wore his suit, he and Daenlith traveled around the lake and crossed a few leagues in just an hour. I had always thought that only elves and Kull could march for so long at such a pace."

Oromis nodded. "I see. Do you recognize this description, Spartan?"

The soldier nodded.

"Very interesting. Your body seems to function unlike any human I have ever seen. What makes this interesting to me is that you are most definitely the same race of human that the humans in Alagaesia belong to, as you were capable of forming a bond with a dragon. So…what makes you different?"

"That's irrelevant," the Spartan replied. "We'll work with what we have. What else do you need?"

"Your strength is greater than my own, which says something for a human," Oromis dryly remarked. With such a body like the Spartan's, Eragon could easily imagine a strength greater than human, but…superior to Oromis? An elf whose power was already enhanced by his bond with a dragon? How was something like that possible? The only reasonable explanation for something like that…well, it had to be what Arya had thought of a day back. She had mused about the soldier's strength in outmatching a shade –she had said that his bond must have been accelerated for some reason. Like putting years of experience into one mind, but then with bodily gifts. Eragon hadn't thought it possible like that, but…safe for magic, there was nothing that could explain his impossible feats. That, or he was some sort of human subspecies. "Never before have I heard of something like this. Only Galbatorix holds more strength than the elves…you truly are an enigma, Spartan."

"I get that a lot," the soldier replied. His unnatural blue eyes were aimed at Oromis, but still Eragon had the feeling that the soldier was staring right into _his _soul. It was not possible for a human being to look like that! No human grew so large, or had such a pale complexion! "Continue."

"Yes. We must go through the origin of these fortunate changes later. For now, let us focus on your reaction time. I have noticed that, just like your physical strength, your reaction time outclasses that of humans many times. You lack the finer techniques with the sword that Eragon does possess-"

Eragon felt a hint of proud at those words. Lately he had gotten the feeling that Spartan seemed to be better at everything than he was…social interaction notwithstanding, of course.

"-but your daily sparring matches should bring you up to speed sooner rather than later. For the moment, I wish to see how far your reflexes bring you."

"How?" The soldier asked.

Oromis lifted an eyebrow. "Why, with the simplest method of testing, of course. A game."

"What?"

The elf showed them a pebble that he had plucked from the ground. "A simple game." He placed the pebble on the table and Eragon wondered if the Spartan was supposed to snatch it out of the air or something.

Oromis placed his hand a meter above the small stone, with the palm of his hand aimed downwards. "I need you to place your hand halfway between my own and the stone. At one point, I shall move to take the pebble away. When I do so, you must grab it first."

Eragon paid rapid attention to the spectacle. He could guess what this had to do with testing reflexes, but he couldn't understand what measure Oromis was going to take with this.

"Yes."

Oromis fell silent and the Spartan seemed to bow his head, but Eragon knew that the former was waiting for the right moment to initiate the test while the latter was watching intently to respond to that. This scenario was familiar to him; whoever got the pebble, won. It was a match of reflexes and elves not only had superior strength, but superior speed as well. There was no way that Spartan-

The two still figures twitched right when Eragon blinked and suddenly, the blue-eyed soldier held the pebble in his hand.

Oromis stared at Spartan, narrowing his eyes as if he was analyzing his body. "That was….awfully quick."

"I got good reflexes," the other Rider stated.

"Faster than my own?" Oromis asked. He looked rather skeptical. Eragon was stunned. He had seen the Spartan outmaneuver Vanir before, but Oromis? A multi-century old elf, beaten by a human? That was impossible. Spartan had just gotten lucky on his first attempt.

But the Spartan did not stop being lucky. As Oromis ran him through a series of increasingly difficult exercises, most of which Eragon had never before seen in his life, Spartan continued to prevail. Only at tests where a certain technique was involved that the warrior did not immediately grasp was Oromis victorious, but those occasions became increasingly rare. After one last assignment (throwing a blunted knife back and forth with increasing speed until one failed to deflect or catch it) Oromis called for a halt.

"I have seen enough for today," said the elf. "Your reflexes are…impossible for me to chart precisely. And I think that they would only increase during combat."

"What now?"

"Now? Eragon and you can practice with magic. I have a few spells that the both of you need to know…and I, in a rather interesting change of events, wish to know more about the method with which you arrived at our world."

As the two students started working with magic –manipulating water while protecting themselves against thrown objects- the Spartan started with a tale that sounded extremely unlikely to Eragon.

"By our count, this year is twenty-five fifty-three," the soldier explained as he skilfully directed the water to deflect a pebble that had been thrown by Oromis. "In twenty-two ninety-one, scientists developed the Shaw-Fujikawa Slipspace Drive, which enabled mankind to travel between the stars."

"The stars? That is a vast distance indeed. You settled on multiple words, if I am not mistaken?"

"Correct. Before the war started, thirty years ago, humanity had settled over two-hundred worlds."

Eragon whistled slowly. The sheer scale of that all was very hard for him to follow. It was as if he had just heard that gods had a physical form! Humans, to whom he was so very proud to belong, lived on hundreds of worlds that were scattered across the stars! Their world was just one of many and while the idea had the potential to scare him out of his wits, he felt relieved and happy. Had Saphira been there physically, he would have given her a hug.

'_We're not alone!'_ He told her happily. '_Others are out there! More may come to help us and all is not lost of this conflict is not won.'_

'_That is no reason to become careless. The Spartan arrived a hundred years after the King slaughtered my kin, so do not sit around like a fool waiting for help that will never come. We must do this ourselves.'_

'_But now that others have come-'_

'_We shall see what happens later. For now, focus on what the Spartan has to say.'_

Eragon nodded without thinking about it and quickly turned his attention back to the giant soldier.

"Our enemy, a collection of races calling themselves the Covenant, believed that a different and extinct race, called the Forerunners, are gods. But the Forerunners really existed long ago and they possessed the technology to create worlds."

"How?" Oromis immediately asked, eager to learn more.

"Don't know. Our ship –the UNSC _When Duty Ends, _a two-hundred meter Warship, encountered Forerunner machines during our last mission. They sent us here using star-travel technology."

"But why? Why would machines choose to do something like that?" Oromis asked, but Eragon couldn't follow the conversation anymore.

"Ehm…machines? Like war-machines? Catapults?" He asked. "They don't do anything that their makers don't want them to. They are made out of wood and metal and…well, they can't think."

"The Forerunners could create Artificial Intelligences with the mental capabilities of a hundred dragons," Spartan was quick to dazzle Eragon's mind even more. "Those machines could think on their own, even while serving their long-gone masters."

"How…how do you create a mind so powerful?" Eragon asked, his previous euphoria long since gone. These Forerunners really did sound like gods to him! Perhaps the Covenant had been right to worship them?

"Normally using other minds. But that's irrelevant. What is relevant is that I discovered a Forerunner structure not far from here."

"What?" said Oromis, sounding very alarmed. "Where? What did it look like?"

"Near where we ran into Gilderien…temple-like structure…clean white with a yellow console."

"The Outpost of the Sun," Oromis mused. "That is Forerunner? It explains why nobody has ever managed to enter it…and why Gilderien the Wise is so intent on staying near it. Not even our most powerful magicians could put a scratch on its surface. Some have even died; their energy consumed by the fruitless spells that they attempted to open it with."

"Morons," Spartan commented without a hint of respect.

"Spartan," Oromis sharply exclaimed, "do not insult our dead!"

"It's not like they can complain about it," the Rider boldly continued. "Besides; you always warn us about not dying when using magic."

Oromis sighed in frustration. "The dead deserve our respect, for their sacrifice grants us insight in the world around us. Also, their magic consumed all their strength before they could ever cancel it. That place holds tremendous power inside of it."

"Nobody opened it?"

Eragon felt Saphira approaching them and he quickly told her about the things he had heard.

"Nobody has ever opened it before. Now…let us abandon this subject for now. I shall give you both the time you need to prepare for the coming days. I expect you two tomorrow-morning once more."

Eragon gave his master a small bow. "Yes master." He saw that the Spartan made no such movement, but the soldier did wish Oromis goodbye in a respectful manner, which Eragon supposed was all he could expect for the moment.

His head was spinning at the revelation of so many new things; his entire world had been thrown upside-down and he had no idea how he could ever process what he had learnt.

…that was not entirely true. Arya could help him. She was wise, calm and collected. She would know how to deal with this mess.

'_Saphira?'_ he asked, feeling a bit unsure. He watched the Spartan climb his dragon –without a saddle, nonetheless- with his inhuman speed and elegance and wondered what could have possibly made a human like him into the warrior he was today.

It must not have been really pleasant. In a way, Eragon felt for Spartan. Stuck in that armour, limited to war…and all that attitude was _after _he had bonded with Aeraleth. How had the soldier been _before_ he had bonded with the dragoness?

And how much had that poor creature suffered because of that?

~0~

The three days leading up to the Blood-oath celebration were some of the weirdest, but also the most peaceful and pleasant days Maine had had in a _very _long time. After that one nightmare about his torture at the hands of the Insurrectionists, he hadn't had any other nightmares Aeraleth had reacted with severe shock and disgrace when he had told her about his dream and even more so when he had actually showed her parts of his memory regarding it. Only after he had confirmed that the culprits were already dead had she calmed down somewhat.

Aeraleth…his first real partner. His first real friend. The only one who seemed to understand him somewhat. She was plagued by her own emotions and problems, as evidenced by a second fight that she, Saphira and Glaedr had had on the end of the second day. All three of them had been wounded but, on the contrary to Glaedr and Saphira, Aeraleth had immediately allowed her Rider to help her and talk to her. Her feelings concerning the male dragon were strange and confusing and her pain about the end of her race was something that Maine really could not help her with. But his presence had been enough to help her and eventually, she had calmed down. They helped each other now, which was something that Maine felt proud off.

And with his dragon's support, the Spartan was slowly opening up to many of the good things that Ellesméra had to offer .At the end of the third day before the Celebration he had met up with the old Rhunön again. They had talked about the properties of weapons, armour and the material that his rifle was made off. She hadn't seemed shocked to see him out of his armor, but she had told him that his appearance reminded her of Morzan somewhat. He hadn't known what to make of that, so he had changed the subject to UNSC Starship-grade armour. The smith had been very interested in the things he had to tell her; about the Covenant plasma torpedoes and how they had managed to boil through two meters of solid grade-A armor at one point.

And he had been equally interested in learning about the creation of the Rider's swords. Despite the fact that Rhunön had sworn a binding oath never to make a sword again, as Galbatorix had either destroyed them or used them for evil, she had still been very passionate about the process. One day she had found a fallen meteor, which had supplied her with a very strong metal which she had used in the making of the blades.

Of course, Maine had spent the mornings before the Celebration would start by sparring with Daenlith whom, he came to understand, had various friends in Ellesméra. Their sparring time generally took ninety minutes per day, but he was thankful to have someone to practice with. Daenlith was a superb swordswoman and he learned at a rapid pace, allowing him to mark the elf a few times as well. They continued to clash with their enchanted hand-and-a-half swords until one of them felt like taking a break, after which they would continue fighting. Maine started to get to know the elf as she told him things about her early childhood, her companions and other personal things, like her tastes in music, art and food, much to his surprise. In turn, he wanted to tell her as much about him as was he could without sharing classified Intel or scaring her off. He told her about his experiences in the war, battles fought in the Human-Covenant war and things that he generally felt were interesting to know. Of course he was careful to leave out the scale of the war, which was sure to shock Daenlith into silence.

One of her friends was am elf who came close in age to queen Islanzadí; he was three-hundred and something years old and one of the rare elves whom the Spartan actually respected for being a warrior, for that was exactly who this elf was. A veteran soldier from wars fought even before the first Rider war, against the Forsworn. Maine hadn't really understood how Daenlith knew the warrior and at first, he had felt a strange hostility towards him, but that had changed when he had come to learn of the elf's warrior's heritage.

All in all, Maine was really content with the way he spent his time in Ellesméra. He mastered difficult topics in magic with a pace that seemed to unsettle Oromis somewhat and despite his so-called 'extremely narrow views', he still managed to have civil conversations with both Eragon and the elven Rider, albeit they were still very one-sided. But on the second-last day before the Agaeti-Blödhren, Maine was struck by another aggression-fit. After he had climbed inside of the barracks to grab some sleep, his vision had blurred and his stomach had suddenly forced itself into a tight knot. Things went downhill very fast after that, with his temperature spiking and his rational thoughts nearly vanishing in the still-inexplicable and extremely sudden desire to maim something. It had been a very unpleasant sensation; akin to his mind being put on fire. When Aeraleth and him had finally regained control over both his mind and body, his arms had been covered with bloody scratches and his tunic had been torn in several places. The walls had moderately damaged, but he had also ruined two beds.

It had frightened Maine. Without Aeraleth to physically restrain him, he could have run off and killed someone. He couldn't even call it a lack of discipline anymore, as it felt more like a painful disease than an emotion. Aeraleth had suggested coming to Oromis with it, but Maine had refused. He was disgusted with himself for not being in complete control over himself and he wouldn't trust anyone else with his fits.

It was right after that fit of aggression that he had returned to the place where he had stashed his work for the art-presentation cycle. He had done extensive research on the matter of fairhs, mental pictures and scrying and he had been adding things to it ever since he had learnt of the presentation of cultural elements at the festival. What Aeraleth was making, she wouldn't tell. Only that involved the same sort of materials he had been looking for and that the elves had better be good at staying calm in the presence of danger, which he very much doubted.

On the eve of the Agaeti Blödhren –which was must like Christmas in that it lasted for more than one day, three in this case- Daenlith came for him. Maine had been doing exercises in his tree when he sensed her presence and he quickly rushed to don a fancy tunic. He was halfway done with removing the sleeve from his head and placing his arm through the wrong hole when Daenlith appeared in the door-opening, clad in a simple-looking yet elegant dress.

"Am interrupting you?" She asked with a bemused expression.

Maine remembered that he had a pretty big collection of scars and quickly forced the tunic in its right form, obscuring his chest from the elf. "No," he replied and wished that he had remembered how to properly wear the tunics that were designed for special occasions. Aeraleth had warned him that mundane skills could be invaluable and she had been absolutely right.

"Very well. Are you ready?" She asked.

The Spartan nodded, noticing that a flap of clothing had appeared in front of his mouth. These clothes were not very comfortable, which was odd considering that they had been made to alter to various sizes. Had he done something wrong? "Yes."

"You do not seem ready to me," Daenlith mused, her voice calming the feelings of frustration and annoyance that were building up inside of his mind.

"The tunic has developed a fault," replied the Spartan as he carefully tried not to tear the elven clothes.

"That is because you are wearing them backwards."

…Ah. That explained some things.

Daenlith seemed to suppress a smile as she walked towards him to show him how to properly wear clothes. Maine, who had never expected to fail at wearing clothes, silently allowed her to assist him.

"Where are we going?" the Spartan asked the elf as she assisted him with his small problem.

"The Menoa tree," replied Daenlith and stepped back to observe Maine in his now-fitting clothes. "Yes, this seems correct."

"Thanks," he said and quickly told Aeraleth to meet him at the base of the barracks.

'_Already waiting there, little soldier,' _the dragon replied happily. '_I have been looking forward to this day. Are you not yet ready?'_

'_Almost.'_

"Eragon is not the only one who has a scarred back," Daenlith remarked dryly as she walked back to the exit.

Maine felt a new stab of annoyance. He had not wanted her to see his scars, as he had no idea how she would react to them. The augmentation surgeries had left several thin, but long marks across his skin and that wasn't the only process that had done so. His time spent as a captive behind enemy lines of the Insurrectionists had given him a few scars too…and the Covenant had granted him a fair share of burns and marks.

He wanted to tell the elf that Eragon was the only one who got nailed by a tough guy with a sword, but he would be lying and the Ancient Language wouldn't allow that. And in the end, civilians were often revolted by soldiers with a lot of scars. He had been taught to keep his head low and his body covered so the masses wouldn't ask questions…and that scars were bad, as they meant you hadn't been good enough to escape undamaged. He had come to question those teachings a lot the past few years, but that had led to him not knowing what to believe anymore.

"No," he settled for simply confirming her statement.

Daenlith didn't comment further on him and as she led him to the Menoa three, where Eragon, Saphira and Orik were already waiting for them together with Orik –whom Maine had completely forgotten in all honesty- he started to think whether or not the elf had actually meant anything with that remark.

A host of elves was assembled, their hair flickering in the light of the hundreds of lamps mounted in the tree. Islanzadí herself stood upon a raised root at the base of the trunk, looking a lot like her daughter with her stance. That strange, white raven was sitting on her shoulder and a werecat was lurking behind her. Glaedr was there as well, together with Oromis –who was also garbed in red and black, just like Maine had been a few days back. Had the Rider taken fashion lessons from him?

The Spartan recognized several other elves such as Lifaen and Vanir, much to his distaste. He was not ready for all these elves to see him like was now, without his armour. The magic was strong in the air and he was already feeling trepidations for the coming conflicts. Just as he considered going back to join his 'piece of art' in the barracks, Aeraleth put some extra strain on their bond and told him to calm down. Which was really easier said than done.

'_There are so many of them,'_ he replied as he looked around the various forms of the elves. '_I don't have enough ammo.'_

'_You were wise to bring your weapon, but refrain from killing with it in self-defense. Only harm.'_

'_You can talk. They all seem to worship you.'_

'_You are a rider. They would not dare harm you –and they have no reason to do so.'_

'_You're probably right.'_

'_And still you are tense.'_

'_That you are right doesn't mean I'm wrong.'_

Arya brought Rhunön over, who then started a conversation with Orik in Dwarfish.

"We will have to wait until midnight," Daenlith told Maine. "Then it starts."

"What will happen?" replied the Spartan.

"Everything," said the elf. "Music, magic, dances and food. Our offerings of art and the meeting of many elves who have come to travel to Ellesméra."

"Oromis said the elves go mad during the festival."

"So we do. But is the sensation not a glorious one? To be able to let go and live life like it is meant to live?"

"Will they be a threat?"

She turned towards him, a truly shocked expression on her face. "A threat? Spartan, you must learn to let go. This is a custom many centuries old! Our entire race is joining in it, separated by distance or not. No elf seeks to harm another one, as we all hold life sacred and dear. Have you learned nothing during your time with us?"

"Galbatorix is spoken off as mad," replied Maine. "Madness is bad."

"Then see it not as madness, but a trance. Or a state of inspiration. Nobody is going to hurt you."

She spoke in the Ancient Language, so she must have believed it to be true. She sounded a lot like how Aeraleth sounded when she tried to ease his worries. Funny how that went.

Stars were gleaming above the starry glade, where the larger group of assembled elves were holding surprisingly quiet. They waited until the point of midnight, whereupon Islanzadí stirred and every elf snapped to attention. The queen raised her bare left arm and pointed it towards the moon, which was full that night. A white orb gathered above her palm from the light emitted by the lanterns of the Menoa tree. Then Islanzadí walked along the root to the massive trunk and placed the orb in a hollow inside of the tree, where it remained, pulsing.

"It has started?" Maine asked.

"It has started!" Daenlith replied with a happy laugh. "Only to end when the werelight expends itself."

"What now?"

The elf gently took his arm and turned him around, gesturing at the elves that had sprung into motion. They divided themselves into informal camps throughout the forest and clearing that encircled the Menoa tree. As if they summoned them out of nowhere, tables with all sorts of dishes and foods appeared. As the Spartan carefully watched the many elves around him, some started to sing. Others quickly followed and soon, more than half of the elves were singing with their clear voices. They sang songs which Maine did not recognize, but what he did recognize was the obviously magical tone that lay hidden in their voices. They were all parts of a greater melody that created an enchantment over the clearing and the forest; a form of magic that seemed to heighten senses, removed inhibitions and other things that were not distinguishable.

Saphira started to hum along with the music and while the Spartan would not object if his own partner decided to do that, he did hope that she would keep her honour to herself. He also felt a strange sensation brooding in his chest; a foolish desire to abandon his mental restraints and join the elves with their dances and their singing. He would not though, as he knew better than that. This entire thing was a mistake…he should really have stayed back inside of his barracks until this had all blown over. The magic in the air had an intoxicating effect on him, just like the singing during the Invocation had had. If he wasn't very careful, he would do something that he would regret. And he did not want to end up making a fool of himself amongst the elves and their crazy, passion-induced antics.

The next thing he knew, he was having a conversation with Eragon regarding elf-women.

"I just don't get it," Eragon said as he eyed Arya, who was dancing with some unknown male. "What is wrong with humans and elves being together? I can understand that the humans die and elves live on, but Riders also live on."

"Most elves either see humans as inferior or don't meet any in their life," Maine replied, trying to find Daenlith in the crowd.

"But Arya is an ambassador…she should know enough about humans to consider them a viable choice."

"There are only two human riders she can choose from."

"I know, but…after everything she and I and Murtagh went through…she even said that she does not trust most of her kind now that she has been living in isolation for so long. Oh, Murtagh…"

The Spartan, knowing that Murtagh had been one of Eragon's closest friends, didn't know how to respond to that. Did Eragon want to hear about Arya, or Murtagh?

"How do you deal with something like that?" Eragon then asked. "You have seen your fair share of war, haven't you? How do you get over something like that?"

Had he ever lost someone who was important to him? Apart from his family, fifteen years back, he hadn't lost anyone like Eragon had. "I didn't have a lot of people to lose, but time heals a lot."

"So in order to get over it I need to…get over it?"

"Pretty much."

"That doesn't sound very doable."

"I know."

Eragon sighed again. "Anyway, because of the things we did together, Arya says she considers me a close friend. But…I don't know. Doesn't she consider me a potential partner? Do I mean so little to her?"

"Elves are difficult," the Spartan replied. "They don't think logically."

"Yeah, tell me about…" The boy quietly took a sip from a flacon filled with a clear liquid, which had probably come from one of the tables. "You noticed it too?"

He nodded. "Easy to insult, weird customs, arrogant demeanor." Unmatched magical prowess and very beautiful specimens…not that he would ever admit that aloud.

"You have an elf escort, right?"

He nodded again. What was it to Eragon?

"Do you get along with her?"

"At times."

"What do you mean?"

Maine sighed and watched as Glaedr downed a barrel of some liquid substance. "Elves are…difficult. Daenlith doesn't like riders very much."

"Yeah, I heard about that. Morzan and the forsworn attacked Du Weldenvarden."

"Together with a flock of Lethrblaka."

"I wonder how they got away?"

"Easy. They had air superiority, the elves were bogged down on the ground and wood burns easily."

"But still, the elves are very capable fighters. Surely they would have won that fight?"

"The elves couldn't stop Galbatorix when he rose to power and they couldn't stop him now. They are stuck in their ways."

"What makes you think that?" Someone asked him and Eragon's head snapped up as the boy realized who was asking them that question.

"Hello Gëda," Maine said, recognizing the elven warrior that Daenlith had introduced him to.

"Well met, Riders. Tell me Starborn, why is my kin stuck in their ways?"

Eragon caught the attention of an elf maiden, who was quick to pull him in a conversation of their own. After that, things went a little blurry. The Spartan had a quick but enjoyable conversation with the aged fighter, after which he grabbed some food and nearly killed himself on a taste overdose when he tried an innocent-looking cupcake. After having spent so much time popping nothing but MRE's and Supplementary vitamin-shots, something real and unprocessed would have been enough to disjoint his higher thought-processes. An elf-delicacy that was probably grown or prepared using enchantments or charms? Overkill.

Time grew strange. Despite the fact that the night should slowly be making place for morning, the glade continued to be as dark and dusky as ever. Because of the perpetual darkness, Maine soon lost track of time.

Then, after what felt like an hour but might as well have been half a day, he found himself talking to Arya, the two of them sitting against a fallen tree while watching a group of merry-looking elves dance in a childish, carefree manner that seemed very unlike the stoic appearances that he had been seeing in her and Daenlith. This Celebration really made them lose their shit.

"You know," the princess told him while she dreamily stared at two laughing and dancing elves, "your eyes do not fit with your face."

"I get that often," he replied. The one elf he actually felt like talking to had disappeared and he was growing increasingly sure that the magic in the air had somehow messed with his capability to think rationally.

"They look old. Too old for one of your age."

Alright, he did not get _that _often. "Why that?"

Arya observed him carefully. "Eyes can show many things if you know how to read them. Yours speak of anger, calm as they might appear."

"Oh. I thought they were just blue."

The elf smiled. "That they are. You were right though…talking to Eragon helped me. I had never thought him to be capable of helping me get over that, but…he did."

Feeling like Arya was going somewhere, Maine nodded. His head was a little bit fuzzy though, "When we encounter more shades…"

"We will find a way to deal with them when they come," Arya said. "And while I do not think that there are so many Shades out there, we cannot disclose the possibility."

"Raia doesn't seem too bad."

"She has a certain civilized attitude, that I can agree to," replied the elf. "But let us not talk about such vile matters. Have you something to share to our art gallery?"

"I do," said Maine. "It's stashed in the barracks."

"I look forward to seeing what you have built," the elf said with a charming smile. "It appears that Aeraleth is enjoying herself though."

The Spartan turned around and saw that his partner was interacting with a group of elves, who were politely asking her questions and offering her to taste their self-made food. It was acceptable for the moment.

Eragon returned, looking dazed but also very happy. Arya excused herself and intercepted him, asking him to come with her. The boy didn't hesitate for a moment and joined the elf, following her to a group of other elves and leaving Maine alone with his thoughts.

Although the Spartan had to admit that at the moment, he wasn't really thinking of a lot. He needed to find a way to recollect himself and…maybe find a way to have a conversation with Daenlith as well. He seemed to be more talkative at the moment, he might as well make use of it.

…why was he suddenly feeling so hungry?

* * *

"_I think the last thing we need is a degradation in decisions made while ON the battlefield, sir. This lack of rationality and sense is going to make them worse soldiers when it comes to tactical decisions."_

"_The counter-agents, when applied periodically each month, will be more than enough to remedy that. Their aggression fits won't be a problem and their lack of rational thoughts are welcome when it concerns bloody, close-quarters battles with those hinge-heads and apes. Have you fought those aliens before, Specialist?"_

"_No sir, I can't say I have."_

"_Your personal concern for these Spartans is touching, but burdening. Get some social distance; they aren't real II's. They're ONI's agents, angels to those they are ordered to help and monsters to those they are ordered to kill. Get back to work."_

"_Sir yes sir."_

-conversation between Mental Health Specialist J. Sunfield and Colonel Moore, replacement colonel for the Secret-Spartan-II project, follow-up.


	20. Proper views pt II

"_I have resumed contact with one of my spies, near Helgrind. He says he is ready is ready to resume his activities now that everything has calmed down around there."_

"_You have a spy, Raia? Why?"_

"_Information is a weapon, Nasuada. You should know that."_

"_Very well. And?"_

"_I've heard some pretty interesting things about the Ra'zac. Apparently, they have found something of great importance in the Hadarac dessert, a few weeks ago. The king himself holds great interest in it."_

"_I see. Did he mention what it was?"_

"_No."_

Conversation between Raia and Nasuada, 2 days before Blood-oath Celebration

* * *

The madness of the elves was no true madness, Maine soon learned. While they seemed to have left every single part of their stoic appearance and supposed courteous attitude behind them, it did not inhibit their capacity to think rationally. It just changed their way of thinking rational. The constant music and magical presence in the air seemed to make them susceptible to the things that they had first seemed to have lacked. They danced, they sang and they had fun like any human had. It was just stupid that they had to wait a hundred years to actually do so. If they had shown signs of their current behaviour before, Maine might have not felt so frustrated. But they had always focused on making controlled and polite appearances and that sudden change was a disaster for his nerves.

And it didn't make any sense either. The shift between their stoic, gracious attitude and…_this_…was just too sudden. It was an assault on all of his senses and it didn't stop at the normal five. The never-ending music, the constant display of visible magic and the sheer presence of the entire thing were pressing down on him like a thick carpet and if he didn't watch out, it would suffocate him.

The Spartan was sitting against a tree near the edge of the forest, watching the entire thing unravel. The elves were doing the strangest things and it wasn't just their deeds that made them weird. Oromis had told him that some elves were extremely vain, wanting to look precisely how they wanted to look. The majority of the elves accepted how they looked, but there was also a group of those pointy-eared weirdoes that took a different view on life. They used magic to alter their appearance into something that they seemed to like better. It was ridiculous; there were elves that had made only small changes, like the color of their eyes or the properties of their hair, but there were also those who took it more extreme. Those elves had made changes to their entire body, replacing nails with claws or growing feathers along the arm. It only served to irritate him and everytime he would see one, he would look away.

Aeraleth had the time of her life though; because he did not want to have anything to do with virtually everyone who came to meet them, she had their full attention. The visiting elves were overjoyed that there wasn't one, but two dragons in the forest. Whether they were happy because the future of the dragons looked less bleak or because they could kill the king for them, Maine did not know. And neither did he care. He longed to be back with his armour, fighting on the front-lines. But there was no more fighting, as the Covenant had fallen apart and the Elites were at peace with humanity…

'_What ails you, little soldier?'_ Aeraleth asked him, having just returned greetings to a pair of elves.

'_This place is giving me a headache,'_ he replied.

The dragon sounded surprised. _'Why? Does the music not satisfy you?'_

It wasn't that the music wasn't satisfactory; it was the effect that it had on his mind. He had enjoyed himself for a while, even trying some food when he had gotten hungry, but that had changed throughout the hours. His head was starting to hurt again and he had had moments where he was feeling a certain pining in his body, which had nothing to do with a physical itch. It could only be relieved –temporarily so- by moving around. The music itself…it was making him feel strange. He couldn't describe what it did exactly to him, but it could not be positive.

'_I do not like it.'_

'_Why not?'_

How was he supposed to know why his body reacted to the alien magic in the air? '_It feels strange.'_

Aeraleth concentrated on their bond and tried to get a closer understanding of his current state of mind. He allowed her entrance and for a minute, the dragon closely observed the various thoughts and feelings that were flowing through his head. He was very careful as to not accidentally share any memories with her and in turn, Aeraleth respected his privacy and carefully circumvented the thoughts he did not want her to know.

Eventually, she spoke again. '_Ah, your mind feels as chaotic as the day of the Dagshelgr invocation. You are resisting the magic and music, yes?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_I can feel it. It causes your mind distress.'_

'_I don't think so.'_

'_If a predator lives his life in fear of hunters, he will be picked off by exhaustion and stress.'_

'_Meaning?'_

'_It means that you must allow yourself to calm down and…relax…at times, lest you succumb to the unpleasantness of a deteriorating mind.'_

'_That explains a lot…'_ Maine had to admit –grudgingly so- that Aeraleth was right once more. He hadn't done an incredible lot of relaxing in the past weeks. On the other hand, things like stress and frustration had almost never had any effect on him. He would fight through the most violent fights, relink with the UNSC, receive a supplementary vitamin-shot and he would watch another planet burn. Then the Covenant opened up another front and that cycle would continue. What had changed in that pattern?

Well, apart from the nearly two months of isolation and contact with magical creatures, that is. He had discovered that he was more prone to fits of aggression and lapses in logic when he was isolated for a long time…or when he was under extreme stress. Did this count as extreme stress to his body? If so, he would need to deal with that mind state.

He sighed and pulled his legs to his knees. Eragon was spinning in circles while holding the hands of an elf-maid, who seemed delighted that she could dance with a Rider. Maine took a deep breath and smelled the scent of flowers. Things were still somewhat blurry, but he could keep himself under acceptable control by remembering some of the longer battles with the Covenant, re-enacting the flight controls of their craft and the proper procedures for dealing with high-explosive ordnance. Aeraleth wrapped the point of her tail around him and the tree, which looked akin to her giving him improvised cover. Of course, that was probably what she was doing. Maine did not like to think of himself as someone who needed any form of emotional support, but Aeraleth knew perfectly well when to help him. He appreciated that, even though he could not find a proper way to tell her that.

Many hours had went by since the beginning of the Celebration, during which the dark sky had not lightened up, It was supposed to last for three days, but was it also supposed to be dark for three days?

There were elves perched on the long branches of the Menoa tree, much like a flock of birds. They were playing with harps, calling riddles to Glaedr and offering food to him. Every now and then they would use magic to manipulate fire and create a magic equivalent of fireworks.

Eventually, Daenlith returned for him.

"What ails you, Spartan?" She asked.

He tried to opt for "nothing", remembered how he had deducted that something was, in fact, actually troubling him and then rephrased his response. Damn that no-lying trick…"It's all a bit much to take in," he replied.

"I forget that this Celebration can be a dangerous place to humans," the elf replied. "Are you unwell?"

"Nothing worth noting."

If Daenlith didn't believe him, she didn't show it. Instead she turned around to look at two elves approaching Aeraleth. They looked like twins, moving with a slower sort of grace than Maine was used to from the elves. They touched their hands to their lips in the traditional greeting. These two were from the idiotic kind as well; their fingers were joined by a transparent and their necks had three rows of gills on each side. They looked ridiculous, but that was no reason for him to ignore them. In this place, he was an important figure with a high position. He despised that, but he couldn't help it.

He got to his feet, placed his fingers at his lips, but did not exchange the greeting. He had no desire to do so.

"We have come from far," they whispered. He was a bit weirded out by their creepy stares, but it from the looks of it they were also unsettled by his own appearance. Aeraleth and Daenlith were right; his physical appearance really was strange here.

Daenlith looked at them with the normal, stoic expression that he had come to expect from elves. When they left again to meet with Eragon and Saphira, Maine remembered something that he had wanted to ask her for a while.

"Remind me why everyone wants to meet me again?"

"Not just you. Eragon as well, though many of them come purely for the dragons. Humans are still not held in high regard, even though Eragon has earned the name 'Shadeslayer' and you have…" she stopped talking and looked at him with interest. "Do you have a title as well?"

"I prefer 'Spartan. "

"I can understand that, but nonetheless you will need a title to help others identify and address you with the proper respect."

He really wasn't used to that much respect, but he could comply. He really didn't feel up to arguing anymore. That being said, he wasn't going to simply lay down and do everything that was expected of him either. "The word 'star' seemed to spook some people. Any idea why that is?

"I would not know," Daenlith replied. "There are many secrets in Du Weldenvarden, many of which not even the queen is aware of. For all we know, these elves have found something to inspire fear of the stars."

"Like a meteor?"

"What is a meteor?"

"A big chunk of rock that falls out of space, hitting the planet below."

"Space? Which space?"

"Space is what's called the void between the stars. In space, above a planet, there is no air. No sound. No gravity. Nothing. It's literally a void."

"That sounds horrible."

"It's as natural as water, or earth."

"To you perhaps. The only thing that comes close to this 'space' here on Alagaesia is the 'void' between two locations as you teleport an item." Daenlith sighed and moved to sit down next to Maine, much to his surprise. Aeraleth shifted her tail and allowed the elf her place. "I have not seen much outside of this great forest, Spartan. I have traveled along the border…I have traveled to the northern places…but I have not truly left the forest."

"Why not?"

"In killing Vrael a hundred years ago, Galbatorix ruined many lives…and many lives would be ruined in the years that were to come. Fifteen years ago, the last of the Forsworn was killed."

Maine nodded. He knew that story, but he did not know where Daenlith wanted to go with it.

"It was a release to me. A burden lifted, for the Forsworn were no more. And yet I did not leave Du Weldenvarden."

"You didn't want to fight?"

"I had nothing to win. My kin had cut themselves off from the other species, the war had been lost and the dragons had been nearly driven to extinction. Tragedies had been caused by the Riders…and until their deaths, the Riders continued with causing tragedies."

"Was it the Order's fault?"

"Yes…no, perhaps not. Had they acted differently, things could have been prevented. They could have prevented that traitor from gathering strength…they could have done something."

"But they didn't."

"No, they didn't. And history holds the rest. The Forsworn committed terrible deeds, the Order did nothing to stop them and Galbatorix eventually murdered our king, destroying our race's desire to win."

Maine was silent, fully knowing that Daenlith despised Riders. Yet she was talking to him. Why? "Do you ever wonder why Galbatorix did it? Turn against the order?"

"The human was mad. Insane…evil-minded…mad."

"He was just one man."

"One man who managed to destroy the order of the Riders. In the end, when they were needed the most, they failed. They created the evil and were unable to stop it. And now everyone suffers for their mistakes. With the possible exception of Oromis-elda, the Riders of old made everything worse."

"I don't understand why you celebrate the Blood-oath celebration if you think the Riders made things worse?"

Daenlith looked at him, glaring at his face with her sharp, yellow eyes. Then she smiled, but without humor. It was a sad and bitter smile that reminded Maine of how Arya had looked at him after their conversation about torture. "The peace between the dragons and the elves was a wonderful thing. It was allowing the humans into the Riders that doomed us all."

She was having the wrong thoughts here. Did she project her anger to him? Was she being nice to him so that she might harm him if he turned his back to her? She had him cornered if that were the case; he was confused and without his armour. Only Aeraleth stood between them, should Daenlith turn against him. Aeraleth and his skills in close-combat, as he had left his gun in the barracks. "The order of old is gone. Now Eragon and I are here."

"Yes…you are."

"Things are different now."

"Are they?"

He was struggling to find the words he needed, but he was getting there. "The Forsworn existed mostly out of elves. It was Galbatorix who ruined everything."

"So it was."

"Eragon is naïve and foolish. He is also the first of Alagaesia's new, true Riders. You should trust in that."

"I will not trust any new Rider with our fate, Spartan."

He looked at Aeraleth, who blinked at him before focusing her attention somewhere. Then he looked back at Daenlith and wondered just what she wanted to say to him. "Do you trust a soldier?"

"Are you asking me if I trust you?"

He had not expected her to take that so literally. "Perhaps."

She smiled genuinely this time. "Perhaps? Maybe Eragon and you will be able to unite Alagaesia against the king. Maybe not. But in the meanwhile…you should come with me. The time has come for many of us to show their gifts to each other. I take it you have created something too?

He had created something alright. But he was in no way ready to show it yet; he was closer to contemplating whether to leave or not than he was to actually sharing his opinion on art with these people.

His mind went a bit blurry again. He was aware of the fact that Daenlith had led him closer to the main event, where a lot of elves had gathered around something. It became obvious that Saphira was thoroughly affected by the magic (or intoxicated on alcohol) as she bumped into him with her shoulder and nearly knocked him to the ground.

Eragon was clearly amused. "My apologies Spartan," he said while badly failing at hiding his laughter. "Saphira gets affectionate when she is excited."

"That's alright," he replied at the same time as Arya did. Maine looked at the raven-haired elf and was surprised to see that she looked faintly embarrassed. Had Saphira been 'affectionate' with her too? Weren't dragons supposed to safe their affection for people they truly loved? If that was the case…Eragon's feelings for the elf were even more complicated than Maine had initially thought.

After that, Maine grabbed a bowl of berries from the table and downed its contents in three gulps when nobody was looking. A few minutes later he was sitting against Aeraleth's warm body, watching an elf-maiden singing before an eager and rapt audience. She was singing about a tragic love wherein someone was leaving a place, leaving a lover behind. It was really awkward to listen to and Aeraleth had to explain to him three times what the song was about before he even understood what the lyrics meant.

Another half an hour later and the poems started. By Maine's badly garbled measure of time, it was the beginning of the second day. He didn't feel tired, he didn't feel groggy and yet the night stayed as dark as…well, the night. He had a moment where he was suddenly stricken by a moment of severe dizziness and he had actually quavered on his legs for a while before the moment had passed. It was strange, but it could be explained by magic. Just like his unusually-high body temperature and his hunger, hopefully.

It seemed that poetry was very important for the elves. Many of them had made verses for art and while most were mournful or sad, there were also happy ones. There were epics and stories and jokes and revelations and all sorts of works that served only to confuse Maine. Then he heard Arya´s poem, which was actually pretty solid. It was levelheaded, yet intricate and he thought that he could hear a certain degree of acceptance towards Arya´s own suffering at the hands of Durza, though neither the shade nor the torture were actually brought up during the poem.

Islanzadí´s poem was different; as a queen, her story was more centered on the forest and the emotions that it was filled with. It was longer and more boring than Arya's, but Maine did not consider himself the king of all poetry.

The elves actually had plenty of curious and interesting pieces, which didn't simply include boring art. Most of them seemed impossible without the assistance of magic, even though the point was to create something with your hands unless it absolutely required magic. There were puzzles made out of wood and glass, holding striking images of animals, flowers and even landscapes. There were toys, impressive-looking weapons and items that Maine could not identify correctly, although he thought he saw a magical compass at one point. He was fairly certain that he saw an item that resembled a computer, but it turned out to be a magical mirror that could communicate with normal mirrors by simply calling the name of the owner.

One elf had charmed a glass ball so that it would allow a different flower to bloom every few seconds within its heart. Another one had spent decades traveling Du Weldenvarden and memorizing the sounds of the forest, enabling him to imitate a large variety of lifeforms and even allow organisms such as flowers to produce bird-songs. That was pretty impressive.

Rhunön's idea of art was a shield that, according to her, was impossible to break (Maine would have liked to test that with his MJOLNIR), a pair of gloves that were woven from steel thread that somehow allowed the wearer to handle molten metal and other such items without harm (Maine instantly thought of plasma and how the method might be used to further augment the marine BDU's) and even a delicate sculpture of a bird that nearly looked alive. Daenlith told him that the little bird was called a 'wren' which brought his thoughts back to the Captain whom he had still not scryed.

A tiered wood pyramid eight inches high and built of fifty-eight interlocking pieces was Orik's offering, much to the elves' delight, who insisted upon disassembling and reassembling he pyramid as often as he would allow. It was strange to see the elves scurrying around like Grunts and acting like hyperactive children. Either the Blood-oath Celebration was improving their attitude, or they were not nearly as passive as they led people to believe. Maine, who had first thought that the likes of Arya and Daenlith had had a Gravity hammer tied to a stick lodged up their asses, realized that their species was even more complicated than he had thought before.

Yet the fact that some elves called Orik "Master Longbeard" was both very amusing as deeply pathetic to hear. And when they started saying things such as "Clever fingers mean a clever mind", he decided to focus on something else prevent himself from breaking things.

At one point, Oromis approached Maine and took him aside, away from the music. The aged elf then asked him to list the spells of changing, to which Maine answered with both the desired answers as the message that not everything could be altered by magic.

Oromis had nodded, but also stated that "Courage often comes before the fall", which seemed like a really redundant thing to say to Maine. Still, he fared better than Eragon, who had obviously been entranced to such a degree that Oromis had decided for him to recollect himself for a few minutes.

The Spartan did not know if his resilience to mind-altering magic came from his training or his augmentations, but he was very glad for both of them at that moment.

He wandered around the forested area for a while, spotting all kinds of movement in the vicinity. The majority of them were animals who had been influenced by the accumulated spells in Du Weldenvarden and were now drawn to the Agaeti Blödhren like Jackels to dead bodies. They seemed to find enough nourishment from the elves though, as many of the pointy-eared animal-lovers enjoyed feeding them their food. Most of the animals only dared to expose themselves as a pair of glowing eyes, but the Spartan could see with near perfect sight in the dark and he spotted them easily.

One animal that did expose itself was a she-wolf –who then assumed the form of a white-robed woman, whom Maine had spotted before. She lurked behind a dogwood bush, dagger-like teeth bared in an amused grin and her bright eyes fixated on the Spartan.

Said Spartan, having learned enough about intimidating his foes, stared right back at the strange creature. Their staring contest lasted for fifteen minutes before the woman finally broke off, moving back into the forest.

And that wasn't even considering the creatures that were not animals. The Spartan spotted more elves that had altered their original forms for functionality or a different idea of beauty. There was one covered in brindled fur, who leaped over Maine just as he was walking back to the table with food.

The soldier resisted the urge to grab one of the creature's limbs and smack him into the ground. Such things were dangerous to do –didn't the elf realize that some people could see him as a threat and try to murder him?

Aeraleth really enjoyed herself though; despite her always insisting on him treating her like a mature individual instead of by her full age, she still partook in the elves riddles and even playfully tracked one through the bushes, as he had somehow masked his scent and wanted her to find him. Aeraleth had thought it was because the elf wanted the honour of being tested by a dragon. Maine thought it was because the elf was suicidal. Perhaps a bit of both; they were acting really crazy these days and there never was a way of knowing.

And yet the crazy things he saw did not stop there. He did not know when it actually happened, but at one point an elf delivered a poem that was so ridiculously complex that even Aeraleth did not understand it. Arya was nearly brought to tears, but Eragon too was looking at the elf with a puzzled expression.

And then it was Eragon's turn to share his piece of art with the elves.

_In the kingdom by the sea, under the mountains high, lay the village of the free, hardened in the sky._

_Born under the leafless tree, signaled by a woman's cry, was born a child for all to see._

_His goal was burned in a mantra, carved in ancient stone: to kill the foe in Durza, and free him from his throne._

Maine took notice of Eragon's usage of Durza, the foe whom he had nearly fallen to, instead of Galbatorix, whom he clearly dreaded.

_He was taught by people old and wise, nurtured with a goal._

_To plot the shadow´s demise, as was his only role._

_In the land of shadows he did walk, searching for the one he was to find._

_He learned to strike and block, fending off the fiend._

_But his thoughts were not to kill, and shuddered by a dilemma._

_Was his goal his will, to kill the foe in Durza?_

_The years soon did pass, earlier than he thought, and as he lay in the grass, thinking of those he had fought._

_Had he appealed to the mass, was the shadow's plight for naught? _

_His youth burned his body, his impatience seared his veins. He did not think his goal foggy, for they were clear as plains. _

_But in those soft meadows, under the sinking sun, he was hit by his sorrows, born of what to be done._

_There he met a woman, calling herself fate._

_She asked him for his brethren, who would share his weight._

_He did not understand, cold reached to his bone. So many shadows in the land, but did he stand alone?_

_Fate told him to wake up, to work himself anew. She told him to get up, and flee to the seas so blue._

_But he knew he could not give up, and raised himself in full view. He said he could not let up, and thought of the foe he would slew._

_The foe who lived in the land of darkness, Durza was his name._

_Fate laughed at his boldness, said he was not aiming for fame._

_And together with the woman, he sought the foe that thought the same._

_For his journey had but one end, he had known all along._

_Durza did not comprehend, while the man had finally come._

_Fate had left his side, and now he was alone._

_But the man knew, though everyone had lied._

_That behind the seas so blue, untouched by the darkness' might,_

_Lay the place where he would go, regardless of the end of their fight._

_Durza did not know, though fate had left them all alone, as he prepared for the first blow, fighting for the stone._

_That the man would not abandon the fight, and would never kill for hate._

_As he fought for what was right, not for fate._

If Eragon´s goal was to tell everyone how he really felt about being the one who was supposed to kill Galbatorix, he had succeeded. Maine understood the message behind the boy´s feelings all too well –he just did not agree with them. There was no such thing as fate, that was certain. But if you had to fight, you had to fight. Duty was very real and if it was Eragon's duty to fight, he should do it. Nonetheless, straight up telling the elves that he was going to fight for his own reasons instead of theirs was gutsy. Maine could appreciate gutsy.

The Spartan watched as Eragon fell quiet and returned to his seat, keeping his head low as if to prevent the many gazing elves seeing his eyes. He had just told them a lot about his feelings.

Däthedr was the first to speak after half a minute of silence, Maine had thought that the elf lord would sound displeased with Eragon's defiance of their wishes, but that wasn't the case. "You have a talent for saying what you feel, Shadeslayer."

"You should be proud, Eragon-finiarel, for the truth is always the hardest to speak. Many pressures have been placed on your shoulders and that is in no small part our responsibility. But we shall stand by you when the moment has arrived. For now, I believe many of us have been granted a new sight in your hardships since you have found Saphira's egg. For that…I thank you. And I must think on this further."

Eragon looked relieves as he bowed his head to her. Arya was looking at him with an odd expression that Maine might have mistaken for sadness, had he not known that there was no reason for her to be sad. Eragon's poem did not get shot down the queen had thanked him. Things were fine, right?

He half felt the desire to tell Eragon that he shouldn't be scared of Galbatorix, but he eventually decided against it.

It was Saphira's turn to present her work next. She flew off into the night and returned with a black stone clutched in her talons that was two to three times the size of a man. She landed on her hind legs and placed the stone upright in the middle of the green field, in full view of everyone. The rock had been melted and molded into intricate curves that wound about each other, like forms of crystal. It was a bit chaotic and abstract.

It was interesting to see though. She had most likely heated the stone with fire and then scraped it into its form using her talons or teeth.

Saphira then bent and breathed fire on the stone, bathing it in a searing wave of heat. When she closed her jaws, the small flames were flickering in the dark hollows of the rock. It made it shine with a gloomy darkness.

The elves exclaimed with wonder and clapped their hands, approaching the piece closer to observe its contours.

"Well wrought, Brightscales!" One elf yelled.

Glaedr then brought out his offering, which was a slab of red oak that he had carved into the form of Ellesméra as seen from high above. Oromis contribution was closer to Maine's concept of art: an intricate roll with the image of wide landscape, drawn with proper skills and accuracy.

Sooner than he had liked, it was Maine's turn. The queen declared that he should share his contribution with them and when everyone turned to look at him, a brief image of dozens of corpses in a burnt down meadow flashed through his mind. He quickly banished the thought and replied that he had to retrieve it from his home, as it was too large to be carried in a useful way.

"Be swift, for we are eager to witness your ideals," Islanzadí replied with a smile.

Maine nodded and left the presence of the Menoa tree, cursing under his breath as he nearly lost his balance by stumbling over his feet. Was it so hot in the forest, or was that just him?

After a quick walk through the forest, he made it to his barracks. There he used a swift spell to levitate his creation and bring it back to the active festival. He was very careful not to allow it to hit anything on his way back, as the thing was very delicate and extremely easy to damage. Upon arrival at the site, Maine found that the elves were waiting for him with eager expressions on their faces. But when he gently placed his work on the ground and stepped back to let them see for themselves, everyone grew quiet.

And it wasn't a very comfortable silence.

'_I think,'_ Aeraleth said as she bent forwards to sniff at his creation, '_that this took lots of magic.'_

'_It did.'_

'_How many image-stones did this take?'_

'_I burnt through twenty-three fairths to create this.'_

'_It is…touchable. Solid. No image.'_

'_I know. Hence the burning part. This took a lot of energy and fairths.'_

He had used many fairth-stones to create a three-dimensional fairth whereupon the last battle of Arcadia was pictured. It wasn't a very large structure; it was roughly seven by seven feet large and it only depicted about one-hundredth of a square kilometer. It was very accurate though; the structure had at least a hundred figures create on it, all of them erected from the pigments on the original fairths which he had stacked and forced together. There were twenty-five marines, two warthogs, one tank and one commanding officer. There was also him, in his suit, surrounded by Elites with swords. It had been three years ago that the city had been destroyed and the planet had been glassed, but he could still remember what had transpired those days with great clarity.

"What…is this?" One elf softly asked. The pointy-ears didn't look very happy; most of them looked shocked, while a few others were looking at the image with sad eyes, perhaps understanding what it depicted.

"Spartan, what have you done?" Islanzadí softly asked, approaching the giant fairth.

The battlefield existed out of ruined buildings, destroyed vehicles of both sides and natural rock-formations. It should have been clear what it was.

"This bloodshed…is this a mockery of our ways?" Another elf female asked, reminding Maine of the elves' aversion to violence.

"It's my past," Maine replied without pulling a muscle. He looked at his structure, where the UNSC forces were clearly being overrun. "My people have been locked in one-sided war for nearly three decades. Our enemy was a collection of alien races, bent on completely exterminating us."

The elves started whispering and Aeraleth lay down on the ground behind him, her snout pressing against the side of his right leg. '_It is a beautiful and frightening representation of your fights, little soldier.'_

"This," he continued, "is the fall of Arcadia, three years ago. One of the many dozens of planets that the Covenant destroyed."

That seemed to shock the elves even more. The ones who were slowly approaching the depiction jumped backwards, as if it had just threatened to bite their nipples off.

"Dozens?" Islanzadí asked in a very hushed voice. "How many worlds did your people have?"

"Not enough," Maine replied. "At the end of the war, more than half of our race had been exterminated. Burnt by a relentless foe."

"How did it end? Who won?" Eragon asked.

"One of the races split off from the Covenant, causing a civil war. It allowed the UNSC to survive and ended the war. Barely."

Arya, much to her credit, was one of the few elves who dared approach the battle again. "Is this your part in the battle, Spartan?" Asked the elf, pointing at the lone and surrounded form of the only Spartan on the image. Four corpses were lying around the miniature version of him and he was –had been- in the process of stabbing another elite in the throat. Six more had been ready to take his place.

He had not complained.

"The Elites, the leaders of their forces, were very keen to fight at the front. They were stronger and faster than forces. They were stronger than Kull…and sometimes more numerous than our soldiers. They had shields that blocked projectiles and swords that could carve a Rider's sword in half. " Their image was very accurate; their mandibles were contorted in rage and some of the Elites had shields that were flaring as bullets impacted on them.

"Impossible," Rhunön croaked. "Nothing can destroy my blades."

A few elves seemed to agree, so Maine turned to face the old smith and sized her up. She seemed to be genuinely insulted. "Energy swords, made out of super-ionized particles. Can bisect an entire squad of soldiers in one swipe. Nothing can withstand it."

"You say a collection of races," said Gëda, the elven warrior whom Maine had grown to respect. "Are they all depicted here?"

"Most of them. The grunts, cannon fodder. As large as dwarves, they overwhelmed positions with sheer numbers until the ground was littered with their thousands of corpses…or until we had run out of ammo." The Grunts on the fairth were firing on the entrenched marines with their Needlers and Plasma pistols, burning through their cover. Dozens of their corpses were spread across the ground, but that did not stop them. The small bastards were all wearing their iconic backpack and their gasmasks, as they had always done when encountered.

"The creature of your first fairth?" Asked Oromis.

"Yes. Then, the jackels, the Covenant scouts, snipers and shock troopers. They wield energy-shields in battle, nearly-indestructible. They were known to eat prisoners." Two jackels were sniping at the soldiers from the corners of the fairth, while one lone Marine at the top of a ruined rock was desperately trying to prevent the avians from picking all of his comrades off

Again, the elves were whispering among each other and this time, they were loud. Loud enough for Maine to hear their remarks; they were starting to understand the scale of the Human-Covenant war.

"And the Hunters," he finished, using magic to light one of the hulking monstrosities up in a bright colour. "Anti-vehicle and anti-building. They carry a massive shield that can deflect the Elites' energy swords and large cannons that could kill a dragon with one shot, regardless of where it hit. Without those, they could have torn Kull apart with ease."

The explanation of the Covenant's races left him tired and with a sore throat. As the elves moved closer to the fairth to observe the battlefield with their own eyes, looking at the chaotic fight and the various aliens that were killing the humans, Islanzadí said with a melancholic tone: "Your humans must be tough warriors, to be able to survive a war of this scale for three decades. We will need time to understand its full nature and I ask of you that you grant us that time."

He nodded, feeling drained. He would have rather fought a dozen Hunters than do something like _this _again. But he had done it and now it was over.

Aeraleth nudged him with her snout. '_I am proud of you, Maine. You have grown so much since you have found my egg.'_

'_You think so?'_

'_You would have never shared this with the elves otherwise. '_

'_They needed the explanation. It wouldn't make sense otherwise.'_

'_You would have never made this in the first place.´_

He smiled faintly. ´_That is true. Thanks.´ _

'_I shall fetch my work. Will you remain here?'_

'_Sure.'_ While Aeraleth flew away, Maine sat down against the Menoa tree and watched the elves move around his 3D-fairth, pointing at the various pieces of scenery and He hadn't expected this much attention from them, as the elves had never seemed like the caring types when it considered things outside of their knowledge. But he had spoken in their language, using a forced truth. They knew it was true and that was probably what was causing them to behave like this.

Eragon and Arya were sitting next to each other, whispering and staring at the piece of art. Arya had tears in her eyes and Eragon was awkwardly rubbing her shoulder in an attempt to cheer her up. Däthedr was observing the miniature soldiers with interest, despite the fact that his expression was solemn.

It was interesting to see how he had shocked the elves into silence, despite the fact that these three nights were supposed to be the only time when they weren't fazed by anything. It really said something about how sheltered their world was; these people had truly never encountered the Covenant before. Their existence was centered on the troubles in this land and this land only. King went mad, usurped a throne and terrorized the people. Elves and dwarves and freedom-fighters want to kill king and restore order. Pretty simple actually.

The UNSC was going to make their lives many times more complicated. Elves and dwarves and even urgals were new species that had to be biologically classified. And knowing ONI, they would probably weaponize both magic as the dragons. And he, being able to use magic and bonded to a dragon, would most likely be an important factor in their research. His life of fighting on the front-lines would not return to him for a long time…but if he could serve mankind like that, who was he to argue?

But the thing was…he didn't want this world to be harvested or destroyed by ONI's desire for power. Mankind was no longer on the edge of extinction; their tech had been seriously upgraded since they had settled on the Ark. Would all the death and pain really be worth it?

"How did the battle end?" A voice to his right shook him out of his musings and he looked up to see who was talking to him now. It was one of the elves who had used magic to alter their body; this one was a female who had changed parts of her skin into scales reminiscent of that of a dragon, albeit without the shine and majesty that a proper dragon had. She looked like she was honestly interested in his story though.

"We lost," he replied truthfully. "After six days of keeping the enemy forces at bay, they overwhelmed us. Survivors fell back, the planet was glassed."

"Stydja unin mor'anr. May they rest in peace. Truly a dreadful experience, that seems to me."

A dreadful experience? The fight had been painful and tedious and they had lost on the ground…but had it been a dreadful experience to him? The loss of human life was always a terrible thing, but it hadn't personally hit him. It was a dreadful experience for everyone else though, so maybe that counted?

Before his recent string of thoughts could serve to increase his already monumental headache though, Aeraleth returned. She was carrying a moderately large tree in her limbs, which was an impressive feat considering the fact that it was nearly as large as she was. The closer she got, the more details he could make out on the large piece of wood. There were half a dozen branches still attached to its trunk and it appeared as if Aeraleth had scratched out a complicated pattern with her claws

The elf that had approached Maine looked up, perhaps hearing the dragon approaching them, then smiled with wonder.

"What has the Daughter of the Night cultivated?" He wondered out loud and Maine was inclined to agree, though he would have simply settled for asking what she had made.

When Aeraleth landed, she immediately gained the attention of virtually everyone present. Even the elves who had been faffing about around the 3D-fairth jumped up and approached her.

'_What,'_ Maine asked his partner, '_is that?'_

'_Remember when you tried to create more shots for your weapons?'_

'_Yes?' _He had gathered the elements, but a part of them had disappeared and his first batch of cartridges had been unsuccessful.

'_And that you explained how they could create fire when sparked?'_

'_When touched by sparks, yes.'_

'_Watch.'_

As the elves gathered around to see what Aeraleth had made, she started scratching at the lowest branch, where a dark line was clearly visible. Actually, dark lines were visible across every single branch as well as the trunk itself. They looked suspiciously close to his improvised gunpowder. Had she…did Aeraleth seriously…?'

The dragoness ran her talon across the lowest point once more, before a sparkly flicker in the air appeared. A split-second later, the tree was burning. But it wasn't in its entirety; the fire seemed to be spiraling across the trunk, wrapping itself around the wooden appendages like a fiery snake. The elves shouted and screamed and jumped up and down, looking incredibly impressed.

And once again, Maine found himself agreeing with them. Even as the smoke left the burning tree in spirals, quickly rising above the line of the trees, Maine shook his head and looked at his partner. '_How did you do that?'_

'_Some stones buried in the ground can create sparks when scratched with something solid and hard.'_

'_Like your talon?' _Did she mean flint?

'_Yes! When your weapon project did not work, I took half of your materials and used them on my own.´_

The fire in the tree did not stop burning immediately and even as the two of them were sharing a conversation, elves kept coming to Aeraleth to congratulate her on her piece of art, just like they had done with Saphira.

´_And how did you transport it? Mash it in the tree?'_

The dragon snorted and a trail of smoke exited her nostrils. The crafty little lady had created fire without being capable of breathing it, he ought to be very proud.

'_Using spare clothes, paths in the forest and much patience. I hope that you are not angry, that I took your powder?'_

'_I'm not mad, I'm impressed.'_

'_Thank you.' _The gunpowder wasn´t enough to have ignited the entire tree, but it did not faze Aeraleth in any way. She was proud of her idea of art; that art could last forever, but could also fade away within seconds. But the time of art was almost at an end; the third day had apparently dawned.

'_Shall we watch the rest of the Celebration together?'_ Aeraleth offered.

'_Together.'_

And that was where Maine's memory started losing consistency. There were a few elves left to demonstrate their piece of art, but he was barely capable of keeping tabs on just who or what was going on. Things were blending together, elves all looked alike and his body was burning as though he had a fever. How long had it been since he had fallen from the sky and landed in the king's city? How long ago had it been since his last fit? How long ago…when…when had he last managed to regain control without incident?

His mind was working hard to control the symptoms that he had come to dread, but Aeraleth took notice of his distress. As he tried to take deep breaths and calm the fires that were starting to rage through his veins, the dragoness tried to maneuver her way past the varies trees to aid him. But she never actually made physical contact with him, perhaps because she could not get to him, perhaps because couldn't process her touch.

What he did know, was that another fit of irrationality and aggression was approaching his body. He could feel it coming –he could feel it in his body. And there was nothing that he could do. Where he had once been capable of withstanding such chaotic instances with pure willpower and rationality, he was now left without any capabilities of repeating that feat. The roots of his defenses had been severed; rationality was now subjective; in the mind of the thinker. Thinking rationally was _so _hard…and he couldn't bring himself to stop his body. Under the influences of his feverish mind, he could feel the control slowly slipping away.

Aeraleth tried to fight against the rising pressure of warmness in his mind, but she could not break through. And neither could he willingly allow her. Her mental influence was not cutting it for him though; his mind was causing his problems, not his senses. Had she been gifted with verbal speech, she might have been able to help him.

But she hadn't…and she couldn't.

Maine exhaled and closed his eyes. He did not want this…he had never wanted this. He didn't want to become this, but he had no choice. He had reached a point where he could no longer help it anymore. But he had to try! If he didn't retain control now, he would break out and murder everyone around him. Rip them apart with bare hands. He did not want that.

He gasped softly and dug his hand into the wet dirt underneath him, trying to find something to hold on to. Aeraleth wasn't touching him; he was loose. A loose animal, about to tear free and rip into the nearest entity.

Voices were all around him, laughing and yelling and singing. Ever the singing. It was a chaotic overstimulation of what senses he could still feel and it only served to increase his instability.

Elves sure liked their singing…

Colors were slowly blurring now; some were more prominent, others became a nasty mixture of gray and black.

And they never stopped singing. The elves kept singing and dancing and one of them in particular was calling out to Maine's painfully sensitive senses; he could hear a soft, but clear female voice singing a song about topics too abstract to grasp. It was emotional. However, in contrast to all other stimuli from outside, this song did not seem to increase his desire to burn. It did much more than; it increased his connection to the world, allowing him to grasp at levels of rationality previously unattainable to him. The pounding and rushing in his head slowly died down and he was able to feel the tree poking him against his back, the soft earth underneath his legs and the light breeze of the air on his face.

And the singing. It didn't stop. Maine understood that it had started roughly a few minutes after his fit had settled in his head. He was able to understand what it was about now, as he could focus much better. It wasn't as much the topic of the singing as the way it was done though. That peculiar song, belonging to a peculiar voice, had been capable of pulling hum of his feverish state. Why, he did not know. There was something about it…a certain quality that seemed to be capable of pulling him back to reality.

'_Maine!'_ Cried Aeraleth, who had managed to pierce what was akin to a foggy wall in his mind. '_Maine, do you hear me?'_

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, just as the dragon forced her head past the two trees that were in her way. They groaned and creaked, but he didn't care. Somehow, he had managed to withstand the most overwhelming fit to date, without any casualties. For that he was glad.

'_I'm here,'_ he tried to comfort hr. He noticed that his legs were slightly shaking.

'_What happened? Why did you not reply to me?'_

He looked around as he tried to think of a way to formulate what had just happened. He spotted a single elf sitting on a fallen tree trunk, with a few elves sitting away from her and watching her with happy expressions on their faces. '_I uh…I had another episode.'_

'_I suspected that. How did you stop yourself? I could not guard you, I was stuck!'_

Her sorrow and guilt were obvious in her voice, even to him. He didn't want her to feel guilty; it wasn't her fault. It was his and his alone. '_I don't know. I heard singing and that seemed to help. It was rather silly.'_

'_Singing? That would have been Daenlith. It was her gift to the Agaeti-Blödhren.'_

'_Whatever it was, it helped.'_ He paused and shook his head. Aeraleth touched his shoulder with her snout and, when he did not pull away, lay down with her head next to him.

'_Are you well now?'_

'_It was close,'_ he replied. He was starting to feel ashamed of himself; had Daenlith chosen something else as her art, he would have lost himself and snapped. It would have been a bloody disaster. '_Too close. If I don't meet my people soon, someone will get hurt.'_

'_How will they help you? Cannot the elves help you here?'_

He smiled bitterly. ´_They told me that they don´t know what causes these outbursts. They can suppress it with injections, but nothing more.´_

_´Injections?'_

'_Medicine. Temporary relieve. It is why I can't stay on my own for longer than two weeks…without this medicine, these fits become more frequent.'_

'_But you have been down here for two months now!'_

'_I know.'_ And he feared the moment when he would not be able to help himself anymore or even worse; when the effects became permanent. He didn't want to live that way, like some rabid animal.

His partner was silent for a few minutes, during which the last few forms of art were presented. He didn't care for what happened around him anymore though; he had more pressing issues on his mind. Literally.

'_I won't see you descend into madness. I will hold onto you, no matter what happens.'_

Maine looked at the dragon, startled. She had brought it as if it was a single statement, not even like a promise. Had he misunderstood? No, his grasp of the language was growing better each passing hour. He did not misunderstand a thing…and he did not know how to reply to that. Her words had definitely touched him, but he couldn't…he didn't know how …

'_You do not need to say anything. Just promise me that you won't give up.'_

He placed his arm on his friend's head. '_Never.'_

Together, they watched the last elves receive their commendation and then, sometime later, _Daenlith_ joined them.

"Alas, it is time. Let us go to the Menoa tree for one last wonderful experience, shall we?" She said. Then, after a few seconds of silence, she softly added: "So what did you think?"

'_She means her own gift,'_ Aeraleth told him.

Maine felt a sense of unease; what was he supposed to say, that she had prevented him from murdering everyone around him? The real truth was no option for him. He thought about the mystical music that had pulled him out of his episode. How it could have possibly replicated the effect of UNSC-grade medicine, even to a lesser and shorter degree. There had been a certain melody…a melody that had managed to reach him, despite his senses having been thrown in haywire.

"It was emotional," he stated. "And you have a good singing voice."

'_Just be honest with her.'_

'_This is me being honest.'_

'_Really?'_

He ignored that last comment and quickly added something else. "It is hard to describe. I liked it, but…I did not fully understand it."

Much to his surprise, the elf smiled. "I had not expected you to understand, Spartan. But that is quite alight.; will you and Aeraleth accompany me to the Menoa tree, for one last miracle?"

'_We would,'_ Aeraleth replied for the two of them.

Together with the elf, they backtracked through the forest and moved towards the Menoa tree. Eragon, Saphira and Arya were there too. The elf princess was holding Eragon's arm and even as Maine approached, she said: "Look how the werelight dimds. We have but a few hours left to us before dawn arrives and we must return to the world of cold reason."

Maine frowned. It had been the world of cold reason that had saved him. But he could understand that that wasn't the case with everyone.

Around the tree, the host of elves gathered, their faces bright with eager anticipation. Islanzadí herself emerged from their midst, with great dignity. She walked along a root as wide as a pathway until it angled upward and doubled back on itself. She stood there, upon the gnarled shelf overlooking the slender, waiting elves. "As is our custom and as was agreed at the end of the Dragon War by Queen Tarmunora, the first Eragon and the white dragon who represented his race when they bound the fates of elves and dragons together, we have met to honor our blood-oath with song and dance and the fruits of our labor."

That was one long introduction. The queen should learn how to breathe.

"Last time this encounter occurred," Islanzadí then continued, "our situation was desperate indeed. It has improved somewhat since, the result of our efforts, the dwarves' and the Varden's through Alagaesia still lies under the black shadow of the Wyrdfell and we must live with our shame of how we have failed the dragons Of the Riders of old, only Oromis and Glaedr remain. Brom and many others entered the void this past century. However, new hope has been granted to us in the form of Eragon, Saphira, Spartan, and Aeraleth. It is only right and proper that they should be here now, as we reaffirm the oath between our races three."

At the queen's signal, the elves cleared a wide expanse at the base of the Menoa tree. Maine felt a sense of trepidation, but he kept himself calm. Around the perimeter, the elves staked a ring of lanterns mounted upon carved poles, while musicians with flutes, harps and drums assembled along the ridge of one long root.

The elves and two Riders seated themselves in the middle of the field, with Eragon sitting between Oromis and Arya and Maine sitting between Daenlith and one of the female lords. Saphira, Glaedr and Aeraleth crouched around them, as if to guard them from danger.

The Spartan heard Oromis speaking softly to Eragon. "Watch carefully, for this is of great importance to your heritage as Riders."

How was this important to Riders?

When all the elves were settled, two elf-maids walked to the center of the space and stood with their backs to each other. They were actually pretty handsome, but they were completely identical to each other. Well, not completely. One had black hair while the other had white hair. Still, their very appearance was exotic in its own way and Maine's trepidation turned into foreboding.

"The Caretakers, Iduna and Nëya," Oromis whispered.

The raven on Islanzadí's shoulder shrieked "Wyrda!" And Maine's sense of foreboding increased.

Moving in union, the two elves raised their hands to the ornaments at their throats, unclasped them and allowed their white robes to fall away. They didn't wear any clothes underneath their robes, they were clad in an shimmering tattoo of a dragon.

Maine suppressed the desire to whistle softly. The tattoo was…extremely complicated. It began with the dragon's tail wrapped around the left ankle of the one called Iduna, continued up her leg and thigh, over her torso and then across Nëya's back, which should have been impossible to attain. Then the tattoo ended with the dragons head Nëya's chest. Every scale of the dragon was coloured in a different tint; the vibrant shades gave the tattoo the appearance of a rainbow…or a Covenant army on the march. Maine felt a shiver running down his spine, but nobody noticed

"It is said," Daenlith whispered, "that a consciousness resides on the image of the dragon. That every time it is summoned, it has the possibility to grant power to end great suffering."

The elf-maids grasped each other's hands and their arms were intertwined, so that the dragon appeared to be a continuous whole, rippling from one body to the next without interruption. It was very impressive that they managed to perform like that without breaking the appearance of the tattoo and it only escalated from there. They each lifted a bare foot off the ground and brought it down with a soft hump. And again. And again. On the fourth thump, the musicians struck their drums in rhythm. A thump later the harpists plucked the strings of their instruments and a moment after that, the flute-wielding elves joined the melody.

Then, with deliberating slowness, the two elves began to dance. Their rhythm stayed, as did the steady stamping on the ground. They choreographed each other with uncanny elegance and precision, making it seem like it was the dragon-tattoo on their bodies that moved around them. Round and round they went and the image flew circles around their skin.

Then, the elves added their voices to the music, building upon the pounding beat with their cries. Arya, Islanzadí, Daenlith and even Däthedr sang a song with lyrics too complex for Maine to understand. A wind stirred in the forest, like the rising gales that preceded a great storm. The elves accompanied the incantation undisturbed, singing with one tongue and seemingly one intent. The dragons were humming along in concordance; creating deep pulses so strong that they seemed to vibrate within the ground.

Faster and faster the twins spun, until Maine was certain that they appeared like a blur to the normal outsider. He was able to follow their contorted movements though, and he was certain that a Spartan would be able to replicate the effort, if it weren't for the fact that not a single occurrence in time would allow a Spartan to dance.

Iduna and Nëya were glistering with a film of sweat and their hair fanned around them as they continued to dance. Maine's heart started beating faster and the air was loaded with energy; he was certain that something was going to happen. Something terrible; he couldn't shake the feeling. The two dancers accelerated to a speed he had not seen before in elves and the music seemed to climax in a frenzy of chanted phrases, leading him to think that they were about to summon a demon.

But that did not happen. And yet it did. A flare of light ran across the length of the dragon tattoo, from head to tail, and the dragon stirred. It wasn't possible, but it was. The creature blinked, raided his wings and clenched his talons. It was coming to _life_!

A burst of fire erupted from the dragon's maw and he lunged forward and pulled himself free of the elves' skin, climbing into the air where it hovered, flapping its wings. The tip of its tail remained connected to the twins below.

The giant beast strained towards the black moon and roared; a deafening sound that made the Spartan flinch. It looked down at the crowd, surveying the assembled elves and demonstrating awareness.

Was it an AI? A projection? A spirit, of the kind that possessed humans? Whatever it was, it was obviously aware of its surroundings. Its menacing eye glanced at him, staring with uncanny intelligence. Then it turned and looked at Eragon and the sound that the three dragons made grew louder and it was threatening to deafen Maine.

The holographic representative of the dragons' race looped down over the elves, brushing them all with non-existing wings. It came to a stop before Eragon, staring at him with its large eyes. The boy raised his right hand, with the Rider's sign aimed at the spectral creature. The torrents of air that were buffeting Maine weren't influencing the grass on the ground or the leaves scattered among the elves. In his head, he heard a voice. It spoke in his language, but sounded off.

'_Seek it out. Reclaim what is rightfully yours.'_

Reclaim? That term sounded hauntingly familiar.

The dragon bent its neck and touched the heart of Eragon's gedwëy ignasia with its snout. A spark jumped between them and the winds increased in intensity, throwing all the elves that were sitting around them backwards. Maine was one of the few who managed to not completely lose himself and as he dug his hand into the ground to prevent his body from being thrown into the line of lanterns behind him, elves flying past him left and right, a great wave of magical energy spread itself through the air.

Then everything died down. The Spartan got to his feet, noticing how he and Eragon were the only ones that hadn't been blasted away by whatever had just happened. Small pockets of yellow light were scattered through the air and the ground underneath them had been flattened. He caught the tip of the dragon's tail leaving the meadow, heading to the city behind it.

"Eragon!" A voice cried and Arya dashed past Maine, heading for the unconscious form of the fallen Rider. "Eragon!"

"I do not understand," Oromis muttered to Glaedr. Aloud.

Maine didn't understand either. None of the elves dared to approach them. Islanzadi was slowly scrambling to her feet and Daenlith stopped at the edge of the opening, as if she was too scared to proceed.

"What happened?" The queen asked Oromis. "Did you do this?"

"I know not what just went by. I…this hasn't ever happened before."

Arya looked at the crowd of elves, a helpless expression on her face. Nobody came to her aid, even as she held Eragon's limp body in her arms. Were they all too afraid? And what was that strange noise in the background?

"Get him to his house," Maine barked at her when even Oromis failed to respond. It seemed that, for all their gifts and skills with magic and art, they still lacked the conditioned reflexes of a soldier in the time of need. _Seek it out…_"Something's happened. Something Forerunner."

"What was it?" Arya whispered. Despite the fact that Eragon wasn't hurt, she was despairing. Why was that?

'_Maine,'_ Aeraleth told him, '_Saphira says he is not breathing.'_

The Spartan recognized the sound behind him now; it was akin to the keening of a dragon. Great.

"Can't you magic him back to health?" He asked Arya.

"I dare not manipulate his organs, for I know not where the damage lies!"

He cursed under his breath and approached Eragon's body. The boy was pale, sweating profoundly and really not breathing. He measured Eragon's pulse and felt a very weak one, but if he wasn't breathing.

Maine knew this. He had to administer CPR, but there was a risk that he would shatter Eragon's ribs in doing so. That risk was already present with normal humans…if he tried to resuscitate him now, he would murder him.

"Arya, listen," he told the elf. It was the first time that Arya appeared truly shocked and unable to do anything, which only served to increase his resolve to do something himself. "He isn't breathing. His body needs a jump-start. Kiss of life, now."

"I…what?"

"You need to artificially bring the air to his lungs. Pinch his nose, like this. Then you bring your lips there –yes, we're all adults here. Sustain it for several seconds, then proceed with this…"

As he instructed Arya in how to reanimate Eragon, he heard that the elves around them were having various conversations on the outrage and chaos that this event was. How unlikely it was and how impossible it was. They didn't know what had happened and that seemed to severely limit their ability to do something about it. Fools.

"Why can't you do this?" Arya asked him with clear distress.

He straightened himself and turned away. "I have to find out about something. You can do this." Then he told Aeraleth to meet him at his barracks.

'_Glaedr says he needs me to finish the ceremony, just like he needs Saphira.'_

'_Then meet me there in ten minutes. Ceremony be damned.'_

'_Got it.'_

Maine then left the meadow, knowing precisely what he was going to do. _Reclaim_ _what is rightfully yours…_

The Forerunner building had opened to him. The Celebration was over, Gilderien the Wise wanted to meet with him near the building. It made sense now; the building had been time-locked. It wasn't ready to open until just now. And as Maine marched towards his barracks and carefully programmed the machine waiting for him there to refit him in his MJOLNIR, his mind traveled to the memory of the spectral dragon. How it had nearly killed Eragon. What had it done? And why? Eragon was human and there was clearly a Forerunner presence in that thing…so why?

As soon as he had been outfitted properly, he plucked his helmet from the grasp of the machine and left his barracks, donning the piece of equipment in the process.

He didn't bother to keep up a calm appearance; every single elf in Ellesméra was at the Menoa tree and he had a free path to the Forerunner structure. He broke into a short sprint and made his way to his goal within the minute. Aeraleth was waiting for him there, as was Gilderien the Wise.

"You," Maine snapped. "What do you know? What happened?"

The elf didn't reply. Instead, he smiled and spread his arms, aiming with his hands at the structure behind them.

"What was that thing? What did it do?" He demanded, but Aeraleth told him to turn around. As he did, he saw the same shimmering console appear that he had seen before. He turned back to face Gilderien, but he had disappeared again. "I hate it when that happens," he then muttered. '_Aeraleth?'_

'_Yes, little soldier. Are you ready?'_

'_Ready for what?'_

'_For this. Can you not feel it? There is an energy coming from that building…and energy that your suit also radiates.'_

'_What?'_

'_You cannot feel it?'_

'_No.'_

'_I see. Let us then proceed.'_

'_How are you so certain that it will open?'_

'_I just am.'_

'_Fine by me.'_

He walked towards the console and moved his hand to its surface. Suddenly, a yellow spark jumped between his armour and the holographic projection, draining his shields and causing his muscles to clench. It didn't hurt him, but his limbs went rigid. But before he could even gasp in surprise, the energy left his body again. The console, once in possession of a bright orange tint, was now glowing a soft blue.

'_Did not expect that,' _he admitted to Aeraleth.

'_Let us proceed.'_

'_You said that before, Are you alright?'_

'_Right now, I don't know. Will we be?'_

'_Of course we will.'_

'_Then I am alright.'_

Ignoring his dragon's strange behaviour, the Spartan turned to face the doors. Or rather the large opening that had been left in the absence of the doors, as the structure had opened up to them.

He looked at Aeraleth, who in turn looked down at him. Together, they nodded and entered the gaping mouth of the Forerunner structure. Even with his night-vision, it was very hard to make out what the room looked like. They walked for more than ten minutes, which was odd considering the size of the structure itself. It led him to believe that they were either underground, or that the room was bigger on the inside.

Eventually, after having walked past various catwalks and hallways, the two of them entered a room that was roughly ninety by ninety feet large. Four large structures were placed at the corners of the room, roughly cylindrical in appearance. Five large, blue rings surrounded each of the structures, making them look like human power-generators. The walls were made out of a silvery metal that looked organic in nature, despite the fact that it was obviously metal.

'_What is this?'_ Aeraleth asked.

'_Forerunner tech,'_ he replied. Mankind had seen these sort of structures before, but…he had never seen anything like this before.

Something moved in the corner of his eye and he immediately spun around, bringing his assault rifle to bear.

It was Gilderien. And the bastard was still smiling.

"Greetings, Rider. Reclaimer. Human." The elf said.

"The last time someone called a Spartan reclaimer, the universe almost ended," Maine barked at him. "You better not be here for a Halo."

"The rings are not necessary for this, Rider. Reclaimer. Human."

"Stop calling me that. What is going on here?"

"Our window is brief, the Other One is nearing. He must not know of our efforts."

"Which efforts?"

"Others are coming. You must not allow this world to fall."

"Who is making it fall?"

"Our window is brief, Rider. Reclaimer. Human."

"Then stop wasting time. What is going on?"

"I must stop the Other One from interfering. You will use this console-"

At the mention of said console, a pillar rose from the ground, roughly ten feet tall and completely hollow in the inside"

"-to become what is needed."

"I don't understand."

"That is not needed. Your understanding is not our goal. Your actions are. "

"What?"

"I must go now, the Other One is coming. Remember: do not allow this world to fall."

"Which other-"

Gilderien the Frustrating disappeared.

"-one. Well…Aeraleth?"

'_I…I did not completely follow that one's meaning. Is this…are teleporting elves the Forerunners?'_

'_That guy wasn't an elf. And Forerunners are teleporting robots.'_

'…_what.'_

'_Just kidding.'_

'_Your timing was terrible.'_

'_I know.' _He looked around and hoped that the door hadn't sealed itself behind them. Which it had. Great. ´_And now we are stuck.´_

_´What do we do now?'_

The Spartan, who really didn't feel up to walking inside of some body-sized console, decided that violence would be their best option. '_Break the door.´_

Aeraleth confirmed his request and marched up to the door to smash it do pieces, but Maine had a feeling that it wasn´t going to be that easy. And when, after a few minutes of continued bashing and tearing against the door hadn't brought them one scratch closer, he understood that he had to play the game with the Forerunner contraption.

'_One thing left now,'_ He commented.

'_No!'_ Aeraleth snapped. '_I do not want you to! ´_

_´It´s not about you wanting it. It´s about us getting out of here.´_

_´But what did he mean? What is going on?'_

'_Later.' _He walked towards the console, feeling like he was about to walk into a minefield.

´_I don't want to see you getting hurt.'_

'_Then close your eyes.'_

She stomped the ground in frustration. '_That is not what I meant! Just…just be careful. Please.'_

'_Don't worry. I've got my suit again, right? I'll be fine.'_

She didn't reply. It was probably a good thing that she didn't.

Maine stepped inside of the strange tube, expecting to see some sort of screen that he would have to push. Gilderien had NOT been very helpful, but his words had been clear enough. There was some other one…and others were coming. So there were either enemies coming…or allies. He couldn't use any of those two right now.

'_Maine, I feel weird.'_

'_Don't worry.'_

'_It's not you! There's something happening…it's bad.'_

'_What?'_ He turned around to look at his partner, but arcs of lightning shot out of the thin metal, shooting around his armour and paralyzing him, preventing him from escaping his isolation.

'_Maine!'_

The Spartan groaned, trying to pull himself free of the electronic binding. But the high voltage managed to keep him pinned for some reason and for all of his physical prowess, he could not tear himself free. He could hear his partner crying his name in distress, but he could not see what was going on as he was pinned with his back aimed at her.

'_Aeraleth, break this thing!'_ he told his partner, but if she heard him, she didn't respond. The searing electricity ran up and down his armor and blistered his skin, but it stayed that way. It didn't do anything else, despite severely messing with his HUD. Only…electricity shouldn't have been able of harming him, so what was this?

He heard his partner growling in pain and he gave one more pull, trying to get himself free. And then the electrical arcs jumping between him and the pillar were gone and he slumped to the ground, his armour not responding to his thoughts.

'…_Aeraleth?'_

'_I am here. I hurt.'_

'_What happened?'_

'_When you got stuck in there, these blue lights appeared. They jumped on me…and it hurt.'_

He flexed his arms and kicked with his legs, slowly regaining control over his nerves. '_And now?'_

'_It disappeared. I can't move though.'_

He groaned and groggily rose to his feet. '_That'll pass…I think.'_

'_My tail is flinging.'_

'_What?'_

He turned around and looked at his partner. She was lying on the ground, with her eyes closed and her talons clenched. Her tail was whipping around occasionally, like she was having spasms.

'_I can't control my tail!' _She sounded very alarmed.

'_It'll pass.'_

'_Help me!'_

'_It'll pass.'_

Despite his statement that her ailment would pass, he still walked up to her occasionally thrashing tail and reached for it. If he could keep it down for a few seconds, she would calm down and her muscles would relax.

He reached for her tail, unwilling to actually hurt her. But she lashed out with it again and it smacked him in his side-

\- and subsequently threw him fifteen feet across the room. He rolled with the blow and jumped to his feet, but he had no idea what the hell just happened. He weighed more than five-hundred kilograms! She shouldn't have been capable of lifting him one inch, let alone fifteen freaking feet!

"Aeraleth!" He snarled. "What was that?"

'_I hit you.'_

"You hit me alright! Right through the room!"

'_I warned you that my tail is out of control! It's alright now though; _

"No, it's not. You shouldn't even be capable of hurting me!"

'_I will be if I learn how to breathe fire.'_

"Aeraleth, do you know what just happened? Not even members of the Covenant could throw me around like that." Then a very interesting idea popped up in his mind. "Do you feel…different?"

'_My muscles still burn.'_

"But physically? Do you feel different, physically?"

'_No, not really. What do you mean?'_

"Something happened in here. Something that changed _you. _You managed to push me away farther than any living being can. It might made you stronger-"

'_No,_´ Aeraleth interrupted him.

"No?"

'_No. When you were made stronger, did you feel different?'_

Seeing as he had accidentally killed his martial art-teacher, ripped off doorknobs and computers and broke many, many things with his uncontrolled strength, he would have to be honest and answer with yes. "I did."

'_I do not feel different. Not at all.´_

The door slid open, revealing the dark hallway that they had used to enter.

"You sure?"

'_Definitely. Now get on; we are leaving this accursed hole.'_

"Are we now?"

'_Yes. Right now.'_

He smiled. "Fine by me." He moved to the dragon's hind leg, waited until she lowered it for him to climb, then carefully heaved himself on top of her. He noticed that she had very little difficulty actually keeping him on her, which was weird considering that she had had enormous trouble carrying him in the past. What had changed? If her strength had not changed…had his weight changed? His suit practically carried itself, so he couldn't feel it on himself. But his feet still echoed in the same way as they did on their way in…and that idea was a bit farfetched. But something _had _definitely changed.

'_You feel very differently now,'_ Aeraleth stated. '_I have no difficulty carrying you. Did your armour change?'_

"Not that I know."

She crawled her way out of the tunnel faster than he had marched on his own, apparently completely unburdened by his weight. Maine just couldn't wrap his head around the randomness of what had happened. Gilderien the AI must have gotten what he had wanted, as he had let them go. But whatever it was, they were still in one piece. The Celebration was as good as over, he had learned a lot about magic…and he had made up his mind regarding his duty here. The Forerunner building hadn't allowed him to learn a lot –it was a damn disappointment altogether- but now he knew that this world was somehow important to the Forerunners, so it was important to him. His next course of action was finding Wren and convincing him of helping the Varden take down the King. After that, the UNSC would sort this all out.

They emerged from the structure, finding that the night was still clouding the forest in darkness. Everything was still and quiet; the elves had stopped singing.

Maine jumped off his partner and landed on the ground, shattering a thick branch by simply landing on it. So much for the 'he was lighter' theory. So if Aeraleth wasn't stronger…and he wasn't lighter…what the hell had happened? What had been the purpose of that visit?

'_Maine? What will we do now?'_ Aeraleth asked him.

_´We´re going to get back to Nasuada and help her however we can.´_

_´And after that? Will you leave when your people come for you?'_

'_I don't want to leave you.'_

'_Will you though?'_

'_Not anytime soon. We will see this war through together.'_

Aeraleth's claw swept out and caught him by his leg, pinning him to the ground with relative ease. More ease than should have been possible.

'_What are you-?'_

'_Once this war is over…you and I will have a lot to do. But I will help you stop this war of yours.'_

He understood that she wasn't pinning him to the ground, bur actually cradling him in her arms. A sign of affection that she had never been capable of doing before. But that meant…if she was capable of dragon-handling him like that…something had happened that somehow made him lighter to her and her alone.

A smile crept on Maine's face. That was a theory only made possible by the Forerunners…and if it was true, there was a whole new world of possibilities. And Galbatorix' men would soon find out just what those possibilities were.

But that would be later. This was now. And as long as Aeraleth was happy, he was content to stay in the now for a while.

* * *

"_Ehm…Captain? We got a situation."_

"_Go ahead Takeo. What's wrong?"_

"_I'm hearing talk among the officers of the Varden. They say the Empire is sending an army to take Surda over."_

"_Alright. How many men?"_

"_They're talking about a number of twenty-thousand up to now."_

"_Well, that's it then. No more hiding. If Surda gets nailed, we lose our way to locate the Spartan. Either he will be drawn to this conflict, or we will have to take the conflict to a place where he will find us. Either way, we need the Varden."_

"_So, fighting for the lady it is?"_

"_Fighting for the lady it is. Wake the rest; we'll prep the area."_


	21. Growing apprehension

A pounding headache severe enough to have woken him from his dreams plagued Eragon. He was alone in his hut, which had once belonged to the leader of the Riders. The night was still reigning and he could hear the sounds of the elves' revels, meaning that the Celebration was not yet over.

Before he could even start to gather his memories of what had transpired, Saphira leapt into his mind. Her emotions were intertwined with worry and anxiety, burning through his headache and washing away the soreness of his mind. An image formed in his head, where he could clearly see that she was standing next to the queen at the Menoa tree. '_How are you?'_

He groaned and slowly moved out of his bed. Despite the thundering headache, his body felt better than it had before. He had expected his scar to hurt him after such a fainting, despite the fact that Raia had risked being struck down as a foe to help him. But that did not happen; the pain in his back stayed away and.

'_I feel…good actually. Better than I have felt in a while. How long have I-'_

'_Only an hour. I would have stayed with you, but they needed us to finish the ceremony. Spartan and Aeraleth disappeared, so it took longer than expected with two Riders. You should have seen the elves' reaction when you fainted. Nothing like this has occurred in over a hundred years.'_

'_Did you cause this, Saphira?'_

'_It was not my work alone, nor Glaedr's. Memories are powerful things, Eragon. Some dragons believed that the soul is defined by its memories. These memories of our race, living on in our blood, were given form and substance by the elves' magic. What happened after that…remains an enigma to us.'_

'_I don't understand.'_

'_Look in a mirror,'_ suggested Saphira. '_Then rest and recover. I shall rejoin you soon.'_

She withdrew from his mind and he got to his feet, amazed by the sense of well-being that pervaded him. He felt more energized than he had ever felt before…but Saphira's statement was very strange. Memories that contained power…the soul being defined by its memories. That did not make sense. How had that…that spectral dragon been composed out of memories? It did not make any sense.

He went to the wash closet and retrieved the mirror he used for shaving, bringing it into the light of a nearby lantern. His first reaction was turning around to see if there was someone standing behind him, for the image that lay in the mirror could not possibly hold his own face

It was as if the numerous physical changes that, over time, alter the appearance of a human rider had been completed while he was unconscious. His face was now as smooth and angled as an elf's, with ears tapered like theirs and eyes slanted like theirs. His skin was fairer than it had been before, though it remained its same colour. Actually, most of his facial traits remained more true to human nature than to elf's. His ears were not of their size, his eyes were not as curved as theirs and there was a certain roughness to his face that they did not possess; his jaw was firmer, his brows were bushier and his face in general was not as lean.

His body had been changed, somehow. Changes by the memories, wishes and magic of dragons…but that meant...that had to mean…

He reached around the nape of his neck and, with trembling fingers, felt for his scar.

He felt nothing. His fingers were hard to control though, as if they didn't react properly. It was strange, but…that could be attributed to the effects of the magic.

Eragon clumsily undid his tunic and threw it aside, twisting in front of the mirror to examine his back. Again, his body did not reply as he had wanted to and he nearly stumbled over his own feet, much to his frustration.

The image he finally found, surprised him pleasantly. His back was as smooth as it had been before the battle of Farthen Dûr. Tears sprang to his eyes as he slid his hand over the place where Durza had maimed him, realizing that he had been fully healed. His back would never trouble him again…the realization freed him. All his fears, pains and worries about living up to his role as a Rider had been cut in half by the mere fact that he would not have a fit in the middle of a battle.

Yet it did not stop there. Not only was that blight of the Shade gone, but every other scar and change in his skin had vanished from his body. He traced a line upon his wrist where he had cut himself sharpening Garrow's scythe and found no evidence of the wound. The scars on his thighs, remnants from his first flight with Saphira, had also disappeared.

All the signs of the hardships he had endured…all of the remnants of his past…all was gone. He had nothing left to prove who he was, or to show what he had done.

Eragon's sheer happiness at being changed suddenly turned around. Not only had every single mark of his life disappeared just like that, he had also lost his identity. Everything that made him Eragon was gone…he was stuck in a stranger's body with no idea how to control it. How? How had that possibly happened?

With a heavy sigh, he dropped the mirror and garbed himself in new clothes; a crimson tunic stitched with gold thread and a pair of cloth boots that was favored by the elves. His movements were jerky and uncontrolled; at one occasion, he accidentally knocked a painting off the wall. A painting that he had not been able to move casually before. It led him to believe that there was something wrong with his body; his movements were jerky and forced and all wrong.

He descended from the trees and started wandering the shadows of Ellesméra, observing the elves carousing in the fever of the night. None of them recognized him, though they greeted him as one of their own and invited him to share in their madness.

It hurt Eragon that he had been changed so thoroughly by the appearance of the dragon-spirit-thing. Of course he was extremely grateful for having been cured of his scar, but this…this was so extreme. So sudden. So painful.

But despite the severely stunting way with which he moved, stumbling around like a blind drunkard, his senses seemed to have enhanced somehow. He could smell things he hadn't smelled before, he could see things he could not have seen before and he could feel things he had never felt before. The clumsiness of his new limbs could be compensated by his new sight, as the darkness did not seem to bother him anymore.

The sounds of the forest were much clearer to him now; he could make very clear distinctions between the various animal sounds in the woods and even their smells came to him better than before.

Eragon's aimless path led him past the Menoa tree, where he paused to watch Saphira among the festivities, though he did not reveal himself to those in the glade. He felt so out of place now; he looked like an elf, but he was still human.

'_Where do you go, little one?'_ asked Saphira.

He saw Arya rise from her mother's side, make her way through the gathered elves and then, like an elegant deer, glide underneath the trees beyond. She would know how to help him; she would know what to say to him to make him feel better. She had always known what to say, just as he always knew what to say to her.

'_I am lost,'_ he replied. '_I do not know where to walk…but I know where to go.' _ He followed Arya through the forest, tracking her by her delicate scent of crushed pine needles. He needed her guidance…her wisdom on what he was supposed to do now. What he was supposed to _be _now.

Eragon found her standing alone on the edge of a clearing, sitting with her legs crossed in front of her and staring at the stars in the sky, where he now knew people lived. Now that she was working on her traumatic past, Arya could exude such an aura of peace and tranquility…it made him feel assured that things were going to turn out alright. That he wasn't as lost as he thought he was.

"Arya," he whispered. The elf heard him and looked at him…and Eragon watched as her eyes widened as if she saw him for the very first time.

She whispered back at him. "Is that you, Eragon?"

"Yes," he replied, sounding too mournful for his liking.

"What happened to you?" She asked, looking shocked and confused. He wished that she wouldn't look so shocked.

Still, he approached her and she did not chase him off. Together they wandered the dense woods, which echoed with fragments of music and voices from the festivities. He was very aware of her company; of her breathing, of her scent…of the wise presence that she exuded. He felt privileged that he could walk with her in the forest, just the two of them. But he knew not what she thought; in her eyes, he could have lost everything that they had built up together. Just like his endurances had been wiped clean, so might his relation with Arya.

They stopped on a bank of a narrow stream so clear that it was invisible in the faint light. The only thing that betrayed its presence was the sipping gurgle of water pouring over the rocks. Around them, the thick pines seemed to form a roof with their branches, hiding Eragon and Arya from the world and muffling the still air.

"What happened after I fell?" He asked.

"You stopped breathing," Arya replied in a soft voice and a chill ran down Eragon's spine. "The magic of the Caretakers would have killed you, had Spartan not instructed me on how to safe you."

"He did?"

She nodded, still refusing to meet his eyes. "Yes. Magic would not have sufficed, as the cause of your distress was not known. It was most…disturbing to see you like that."

Sympathy for Arya clawed at his heart and he tried to find the words that she needed. "You saved me."

"Yes. I like to think I did."

"But…I don't know what's happened to me after it. Because of it."

"You are very different now."

"My scar is gone…I can see, smell and feel better than ever before."

"But you are not happy?"

"I…I cannot control my body anymore. My limbs feel like they do not belong to me…like I am stuck in someone else's body."

Arya sighed and sat down near the riverbed. "No records or memories exist of a change like this. The Caretakers always cause wonders with their magic, but this has not happened before."

He sat down next to the elf, fully aware of the warmth of her body and the smell of her hair. "I have been blessed, but cursed. I have lost everything that made me who I am…what made me… _me._"

"No, I don't think so," replied Arya. Then she reached for his wrist and looked at him with her deep, green eyes. "What makes you who you are is not defined by the workings of your body. It is defined by the workings of your soul; of the choices you make in your life and the principles you keep yourself to."

She was right…he shouldn't think to despair because the marks of his previous life were gone, as that was not true. His previous life was still there; it was here, in the present. His body had been changed, but his soul remained the same. His principles remained the same. Only…what if that wasn't enough? What if the choices he made were wrong? What if he didn't know what choice to make when the outcome truly mattered?

"What will happen when we fight the empire?" He asked.

"We would give it our all and forge our path to the king himself."

"No, that's not…that's not what I meant." How was he going to explain this? "The people in the empire live their lives in relative shelter. They know not of the king's deeds…if we were to attack their cities and conquer them, we would be just as bad as Galbatorix."

"Eragon, what are you saying?" Arya said with a shocked voice. "We are closer to fighting the Oath-breaker than we have been in years! All of our sacrifices…all of our pain would be in vain if we do not strike. Do not tell me that you have lost your stomach now."

"I don't say we should stop. I say we should think. Many thousands of lives would be lost if we were to start open warfare in the Empire now…many of them innocent people with families."

"It is a sacrifice we have to be willing to make."

"Only it isn't our sacrifice; if we think…think like the people in the empire. In their eyes, the king didn't do anything to wrong them. We would be destroying their homes, their lives, just for a poorly justified vengeance. If the entire country is against us, we would not succeed."

Arya did not immediately respond, but when she did she sounded dangerously calm. Eragon, who knew that those moments were very perilous in their own, pondered his words and tried to find whatever had angered her. He did not succeed before the elf spoke. "This sort of thinking can be lethal to our efforts, Eragon Shadeslayer. Do you even know what would occur were Galbatorix not stopped?"

"He would finish his business and then move to destroy Surda, the elves and the dwarves. Or so our people say," He replied. "Ignorance is bliss, Arya, but only when it is not fear. None knows what it is that the king is doing. But as long as he is preoccupied, we should work at bolstering our forces and the people's resolve. "

"What are you suggesting, if not fighting the enemy head-on?"

"That we were to make the people of the empire realize just who their leader is. If we can win the people's loyalty, thousands of lives could be saved."

"When you spoke before us with your poem…I knew that it came from the depths of your heart. Such is always the case with you. I can understand why you would fear him, Eragon. But do not let that fear command you; you must face the king. But you shall _not _do so alone."

He met her gaze again. She sounded so determined…so resolute. He had to be very careful here.

"For I shall stand by your side," she continued. "Through the depths of Uru'baen."

This time, he was the one who grabbed her hand. She did not pull away. "I will never abandon my duty," he whispered. "But I am not clouded by my emotions. Yes, I dread encountering the king. I dread having to fight him. But I also fear the outcome; what good is ending his reign when we leave the land devastated and in anarchy? We would destroy Alagaesia. If the people knew that the Varden allied itself with elves and dwarves…they would resent them for it. We would begin a never-ending war between the species."

Her expression hardened. "You don't know that. You can't say that."

"It is a Rider's duty to keep the peace. If our war would result in greater pain and war-"

"Do not say that, Eragon."

"What choice do I have?" he replied harshly, his voice sounding louder than he had wanted to. He could see that Arya was shocked by his rebuke and his guilt was intense, but he had to continue. He had to do this. His doubts were not in fighting the king himself, but in the fight _against _the king. Despite all. "If our fight would result only in pain and chaos –if our fight would only harm the people of this land, is it not my _duty _to keep the peace? Is it not my _responsibility _to prevent that from happening?"

"Eragon…that is not your burden to bear," Arya whispered, this time reaching out for his arm with both of her hands. She looked worried. "You must focus on the present, not the future. You will overtax yourself."

"Saphira said that _this_-"he gestured at his body, "-happened because of the dragons' and elves' memories and wishes. Because _they _want me to do everything I can to kill the king. And because I was unable to fulfill their wishes as a normal person, they changed me."

"You were gifted!"

"I never asked for this," he snapped, speaking the words that had been burning in his heart for so long. "I never wanted to be a part of a war that never had anything to do with me. Our village resented the king, Arya. Yet we always survived the winters and we all had sturdy houses to live in. The past had nothing to do with Carvahall! And then…and then Saphira came into my life. And I loved her like she loved me. She is _so _important to me…yet her appearance caused the death of my uncle, the appearance of the Ra'zac. She gave me love and a life and a purpose…a destiny. But it is not my own destiny, Arya. The destiny was forced onto me."

"It was I who sent the egg to Brom," Arya mournfully said. "I never knew about you. Are you…are you implying that it was _I _who forced this destiny on you?"

"Saphira was the best thing that happened in my life," he quickly replied. He did not want Arya to think for a second that he was blaming her. "But she and I were thrust into a war that we did not want to fight. There is nobody to blame…yet I feel like blaming everybody."

"Who would you feel like blaming then, if not the king? He started this all when he destroyed the Riders. When he murdered the dragons…when he murdered my father."

"And he will pay for that," replied Eragon. "I will not rest before his throne is empty. But I overheard Brom talking with Jeod…about the future that awaited me. How the people in the Varden would tear me apart…how Islanzadí would manipulate all to gain control over me. How am I expected to do what is right, when everyone wants me to do what _they _think is right? Ajihad wants me to fight for the Varden…the Council of Elders wants me to be loyal to Nasuada and Nasuada wants me to be loyal to the Varden. King Hrothgar wishes to attain influence over me and queen Islanzadí leaves me no room to maneuver."

Arya did not seem to know how to reply to that.

"I want to take the king down…to make him answer to his crimes and deeds. To make him pay for what he did to you, through Durza. But with _everyone _except for Saphira and you trying to manipulate me into doing so…into doing their bidding without thinking about my own wishes…I do not know what is right anymore. You tell me to listen to my soul, Arya Svit-kona? Then tell me this…how would I justify tearing apart thousands of families to appeal to the wishes of leaders whose anger is not my own?"

"Do not forget that Saphira has suffered at Galbatorix' hands, Eragon. You did…I did…Murtagh did. Ajihad did. Nasuada did. Everyone who cares about you has suffered at his hands. I regret the deaths that are to come…there is a reason why no elf eats meat, remember? We despise the cruel nature of death and war. But there _is _no other way. If Galbatorix would just face us and spare his people their suffering, we would not have to tear Alagaesia apart to get to him. But he is content to remain on his throne and allow his kingdom to suffer. But I promise you; when this is over…and Galbatorix lies dead…nobody will ever manipulate you for their own wishes ever again."

"How do you know that?" he asked softly.

"Because I will make it so," she declared. "I won't let anyone do so again."

Eragon was at a loss of words. Arya had reached right into his soul with her words and eased his pain and worries…but in a way she had never done before. It was frightening, yet beautiful, that she could have such an effect on his mental state. He had been very disturbed before he came to Arya…and she had drawn out his true feelings of fear and dread…and love.

"You would do that?" He asked.

"I would," Arya replied immediately. "Young as you might be, there lays a huge responsibility on your shoulders. I would not see anyone increase your burden."

"I do not believe my age has anything to do with this," said Eragon. "For if it has, our quest is doomed to failure anyway. The eldest and wisest Riders fell before Galbatorix' might."

"That does remind me of the Spartan; how experience holds more value than age."

"He was adamant about it."

Arya smiled. "That he was. Yet I do not help but feel that he will increase our burden."

"Our burden?"

"I did agree to share in your burden, did I not?"

Now Eragon smiled as well. "You did." But the magnitude of her words hit him a second later and he could feel his smile vanishing. "How would Spartan burden us?"

"Take not my words for it, but I have a terrible feeling that he might bring about more evil than good."

"He is loyal to Nasuada, is he not? How could he bring about evil?"

"His battles were fierce and brutal and violent. And…we elves have a saying. It states that 'she who vanquishes shadows must take heed, for she might become that which she so vehemently fought.' It is an old saying, but I fear it might fit with the Spartan."

"I feel the elves must take heed themselves as well; their desire for vengeance against Galbatorix might reach dangerous levels."

"How so?"

He gestured at his chest again. "I do not hold a grudge and neither do I hate them for this. But had they simply asked…had anyone simply asked…I would have done everything that was needed anyway. Like this…they might have antagonized me."

"You are too kind-hearted to hold any grudge. No matter what the dragons' magic had done to you, you would have persevered. And come out better for it."

"That means a lot to me."

"I know. Eragon…our duty is important. And until a few weeks back, I would have thought that nothing was more important than our duty. But…I have seen and heard many things that helped me think. Yes, duty is important. To both of us, we must not forget that. But…if we allow duty to dominate our minds, nothing but sadness will come out of that."

Eragon nodded, remembering how determined Spartan was to his duty and how far he was willing to go. "Sadness already has come out of such devotion."

"Indeed. And I find myself agreeing with you; we must consider the moral points of this conflict."

"You agree with me?"

She looked at him with a smile. "You sound surprised."

"I…you did state say that I am too young."

"Do not take my words out of context; that was then and this is now."

"Agreed."

Arya stood. "I must attend to matters at hand now, Eragon. I am sorry…I must leave."

He stood as well. "I understand, Arya Svit-kona. But…you must know that I consider you as important as Saphira. I…I really enjoy our time together."

"As do I, Eragon. And perhaps…" She turned around and, without continuing her sentence, she walked away."

'_You are wise,'_ Saphira later told him, when the Agaeti-Blödhren had officially ended and they were preparing to finally go to sleep again. '_I had not expected you to convince Arya of all people to follow your cause.'_

'_She did because I did no convincing. My words were true…and I think she knew that.'_

'_I still think you are wise.'_

'_And I appreciate that.'_

The following morning, Eragon was awakened by Oromis' windup device. He got up, dressed himself and then watched the sunrise, thoughts of Arya filling his mind. His wits might have been dulled during the Celebration, but he had meant every single word he had spoken to her. He had not initially intended to reveal so much of his deepest feelings to her like that, but now that he could clearly about it, he no longer felt reservations about sharing his feelings with her. He trusted her more than anyone else, with the exception of Saphira. He should not fear having to speak about himself to her, as she always took him seriously. She and he always knew what to say to the other, whether they were hurt or emotional.

But he knew that she would leave to Surda soon. He would have to finish his lessons in Du Weldenvarden before joining her in the war and he hated having to stay behind, but he had to.

Orik was waiting for them when Eragon and Saphira arrived at the sparring field. His eyes brightened above his beard as Eragon waved at him. "Eragon! You are alright?"

"I am," he replied. "Better than before. Better than I was in a long time."

"You should have seen Arya's distress when you fell! Nobody dared lay a finger on you when she was there holding you."

His heart warmed at that remark. "I have her and Spartan to thank for my life."

"So he helped save your life, ay? To think that that devil could actually be gifted in helping."

"Do not speak about Spartan-Vodhr like that, Orik," Eragon was quick to reply. "He has many positive aspects."

"Do not misunderstand me, brother mine, I was serious. You should see him fighting."

Spartan was fighting? Now? Excellent, he always enjoyed watching the warrior face off against others in sparring matches. "Let us then! Are you here to practice as well?"

"Eh, I already got in a bit o' ax work with an elf who took a rather fiendish delight in cracking me over the head. No…I came to watch you fight."

"You have seen me fight before," pointed out Eragon.

"Not for a while I haven't."

"You mean you are curious to see how I have changed?"

Orik shrugged in response and the two of them made their way past the elves who were watching something very noisy in the middle of the field. Saphira did not need to make her way past anything, as the present elves all parted before her like water for a ship.

They found Spartan –completely donned in his armour like always- facing off against two fully armed and armoured elves at once. Eragon's initial reaction was that of complete skepticism; the elf-armour might be made out of simple pieces of clothing and leather, but they were sturdy and strong. And their shields were very tough to even dent, let alone break. Spartan was completely out of his field here.

But as soon as he actually saw the fight unravel, that skepticism turned into open awe. Both elves –one male and one female- were armed with a typical sword of one-and-a-half hand, equal to short-swords in human warfare. Their shields were shaped like leaves and their armour made them appeal regal and noble, in contrast to Spartan, who appeared demonic and fearsome. There was some truth in Orik's words after all.

Both of the elves charged at the Rider, who was completely unarmed. He stepped back to avoid one slash and then ducked underneath a stab that followed up nearly instantly. In previous fights, Eragon had been unable to follow even one performed move. Now, while he still couldn't make out any of Spartan's movements, he was able to follow the elves' movements, which had been very hard to do before.

The Spartan ducked underneath one blow, spun around on one leg and somehow kicked one elf away while dodging another two blows and then jumped over the other elf, pushing him a few feet away in the process. Then he landed and somehow managed to turn around fast enough for attack the first elf, who was still unbalanced from the kick.

"Look at that!" Shouted Orik as the Spartan blocked a vicious slash with the shield of the other elf, whom he dragged over faster than the elf could have followed. Then he jabbed at the first elf's face, but stopped at the last possible moment and instead opted to kick him once more, shattering her shield and sending her at least twelve field through the air before she collided with the audience.

The second elf was still recovering from some unseen blow when the Spartan grabbed him in some wrestling method, which involved pinning his arm on his back with one hand. Then the Rider pulled the elf in the air and threw him down on the ground again, holding on to his arm. A boot placed against a shoulder later and the elf was shouting in distress, slapping his hand against the ground.

The warrior then released his victim, who tested his shoulder and concluded that nothing was wrong with it.

"That was fast," commented Eragon.

"That was round two," replied an elf. "You should have seen the first round; it went even faster."

The Spartan looked at Eragon and then nodded at him, actually greeting him. It delighted Eragon that the armoured human would do that, as he had never seen the Spartan greet anyone before like that.

Vanir approached from across the field. "Are you ready, Shadeslayer?"

The elf's condescending demeanor had lessened since the Spartan had humiliated him, but not by much.

"I am ready."

Eragon and Vanir squared off against each other in an open area of the field, surrounded by several watching elves. Eragon exhaled softly and assumed a steady rate of breathing, before calmly drawing his sword. It came out of its sheath much easier than he had expected and his stance worsened, disturbed by the sudden change in movement.

Vanir immediately took that moment of weakness, crossing the distance between them in a single bound and thrusting his blade towards Eragon's right shoulder. While Vanir's movements had been nigh-impossible to predict and counter before, Eragon could now see the techniques that were employed by the elf. How his stance was, how his arms held the sword and how the blade was swung. With that new insight, coupled by a seemingly slower draw than the times before, Eragon was able to deflect the sword. Blue sparks flew from the metal as their blades grated against another.

If Vanir was shocked by the sudden block, he did not show it. He struck again and Eragon saw that the elf was exceeding the boundaries of his own balance, too eager to lunge forwards. He evaded the sword by stepping back and then jabbed at Vanir, forcing him back again.

The elf frowned and then attacked him with several blows in quick succession, stabbing and slashing and swinging at Eragon as if in a feverish path of a dance. Eragon managed to either dodge or block all of the attacks, countering the attacks with techniques that he had been taught by humans swordsmen. Despite the fact that elves were supposed to be better fighters, Vanir's technique was sloppy at some points. Cracks and points that Eragon could not have seen before lay open to him now, allowing him to gradually push the attacking Vanir back.

Something else had happened because of the spectral dragon…it had done more than alter his appearance; it had forged his body anew, in the form of an elf. He could now match Vanir in terms of strength and speed.

His confidence was boosted by that knowledge and a desire to best Vanir at his own game overcame him. No longer would he be at the mercy of the likes of elves, shades and other creatures of magic. No longer would Spartan best him at everything that involved combat. He wouldn't have to fear things like Durza any longer!

Eragon charged at Vanir and pushed him back further, testing his human skill against Vanir's elf skill. Again he noticed that elves were only superior because of their strength and speed; in technique, they were only the same as humans. Perhaps even less so.

But even with his newfound skill, Vanir was still a strong opponent. There was no easy victory like Spartan had caused and though Eragon's skill was better, the elf just had more stamina than he did and the fight lasted deep into the morning, to the point that Eragon was starting to feel really tired. A good night sleep had worked wonders for his self-control, but his limbs still refused to obey him at crucial moments, forcing him back to the defensive and costing him the victory more than once. But the thought of Arya in the starry glade gave him the strength he needed to persevere. After all this time, he would not lose to Vanir one more time. He had not come so far to lose now.

He spun his sword in a circle, dashed past a thrust on Vanir's part and darted past his guard. Then he struck him upon his upper arm, accidentally breaking his bone.

The elf dropped his blade and screamed in pain, his face turning white with shock. "How did you do that? How…how did you…?"

"By the gods," exclaimed Orik. "That was the best swordsmanship I've ever seen and I was there when you fought Arya in Farthen Dûr."

Then Vanir did what Eragon had never expected: the elf twisted his uninjured hand in the gesture of fealty, placed it upon his sternum and bowed slightly. "I beg your pardon for my earlier behaviour, Eragon-elda. I thought that you had condemned my race to void, and out of my fear I acted most shamefully. "In a grudging voice, he added: "You bested me in fair combat."

Again, there was that believe that the king was going to murder all of the elves. Eragon bowed in return. "You honor me. I am sorry that I injured you so badly. Will you allow me to heal your arm?"

"No. I am fully capable of doing so myself. You needn't fear that it will disrupt our sparring tomorrow."

They both bowed again and then Vanir departed. Orik slapped a hand on his thigh and laughed gruffly. "Now we have a chance at victory, a real one! I can feel it in my bones. Ah, this'll please Hrothgar and Nasuada to no end."

The dwarf looked so happy that Eragon couldn't stomach to tell him that he had severe doubts about the entire war. So he kept his peace and concentrated on removing the block from Zar'roc's edges. '_If brawn was all that was needed to depose Galbatorix, the elves would have done it long ago.'_

'_Indeed.'_

But he could not help being pleased by his heightened prowess, as well as the permanent removal of the scar on his back. Without those bursts of pain, he felt as if he had woken up from a bad dream.

A few minutes remained before they were supposed to meet up with Oromis, but Eragon didn't feel like hanging around the training area any longer than was absolutely necessary. He spotted Spartan looking at him…or at least he thought so. He was never sure who the soldier was looking at from behind his helmet, which was part of the reasons that Eragon thought him to be so unnerving.

"You fought well," he told the armoured Rider in an attempt to start a conversation.

"You beat Vanir," Spartan replied with his rough voice.

"So I did."

"You look like an elf."

"The magic of the spectral dragons changed me in many ways." He half expected his fellow Rider to react in a positive manner, or at least be happy for what had happened. Instead, the Spartan remained silent, before he simply walked away.

Eragon felt something heavy drop in his stomach and he lowered his head. Had he not known better, he would have thought that the soldier was _jealous_ of his newfound prowess; that he was no longer was the only one who could best elves. But he did know better…Spartan did not feel such things. There was something else going on with him and…and he just didn't know _what_.

'_Be at ease little one, he does not know better.'_

'_I had thought he would…'_

As the Spartan left him standing all alone on the training field, Eragon experienced a growing sense of discomfort. No matter how much he thought about Arya, he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen soon. It seemed to him as if an ominous storm was gathering beyond the edge of the horizon, threatening to break at any moment and sweep across the land, devastating everyone in its path.

Saphira shared his unease. '_The world is stretched thin, Eragon. Soon it will snap and madness will burst forth. What you feel is the grim march of fate, seeking to consume Alagaesia.'_

He did not like that thought.

Four days passed by and in those four days, Eragon continued to learn and master the subjects that Oromis taught his students. His unease did no decrease during those days and he was starting to feel like something dangerous could happen any moment. Blagden's nighty visit and premonition at the end of the fourth day did not work at all to make things better. In fact, it made them worse.

So when Saphira told him that the chaos was starting, Eragon wasted no time in retrieving his shaving mirror from the wash closet. In the middle of the night, Eragon sat between Saphira's two front legs so that she could look over his head and see what he saw.

'_Arya won't appreciate it if we intrude om her privacy,'_ warned Saphira.

'_I have to know if she's safe.'_

She accepted that without argument. '_How will you find her? You said that after her imprisonment she created wards –like your necklace- that prevent anyone from scrying her.'_

'_If I can scry the people the's with, I might be able to figure out how she is. I need to know that she is alright, Saphira.'_ Concentrating on an image of Nasuada, Eragon passed his hand over the mirror and murmured the traditional phrase. The mirror shimmered and turned white, except for nine people clustered around an invisible table. Eragon was familiar with Nasuada and her Council of Elder, but he could not identify a strange girl hooded in black who lurked behind Nasuada. This puzzled him, as a magician could only scry things that he had already seen and he was certain that he had never seen the hooded girl before. He chose not to dwell on her though, as he noticed that the men were all armed for battle.

'_Let us hear their words, ´_ Suggested Saphira.

_´Yeah, one moment.´_

The instant he made the needed alteration to the spell, Nasuada´s voice emanated from the mirror. "…and confusion will destroy us. Our warriors can afford but one commander during this conflict. Decide who it is to be Orrin, and quickly too."

Eragon heard an disembodied sigh. "As you wish; the position is Jörmundur's. You will do what you must?"

"But sir, she is too young!"

"Enough Erwin," ordered the king. "She has experience enough to help analyze and decide on what to do. The Varden are the only force to have defeated one of Galbatorix' armies recently. I shall be happy to deal with questions of authority if they rise afterward, for they will mean I'm still on my feet and not lying in a grave. As it is, we are so outnumbered I fear we are doomed unless Hrothgar can reach us before the end of the week. Now where is that blasted scroll on the supply train? Ah, thank you, Arya. Three more days without-"

After that, the discussion turned to a shortage of bowstrings, which Eragon could learn nothing from, so he ended the spell. The mirror cleared once more and he found himself staring at his own face.

Arya was still alright…and safe with the Varden. But how safe was that anyway? From what they had heard, something was terribly wrong.

Saphira looked at him. '_We are needed.'_

'_Aye. Why hasn't Oromis told us about this? He must know of it.'_

'_He must have wanted to avoid disrupting our training.'_

Troubled, Eragon wondered what else was going on in Alagaesia that he was missing. He remembered Roran, and how he hadn't scryed him in two weeks.

What he saw in the mirror was Roran, standing on a ship, with dozens of villagers around him. Jeod was there too…but why? What was going on?

He scryed his hometown and saw that the village was gone. Every building, including Horst's magnificent house, had been burned to the ground. Carvahall no longer existed except as a black spot next to a river.

The mirror dropped from Eragon's hand and shattered across the floor. He leaned against Saphira, tears burning in the eyes as he grieved anew for his lost home. Saphira hummed deep in her chest and brushed his arm with the side of her jaw, comforting him with her warmth.

'_Take comfort, little one. At least your friends are still alive.'_

He nodded, remembering what he had seen with Roran. ´_We have remained isolated for too long. It´s time we leave the forest and confront our fate. Roran must fight for himself, but the Varden…we can help the Varden.´_

_´It has arrived, has it not? The time to fight?'_

'_It has come.'_ He knew what she meant. It was time to challenge the Empire head-on_…_it was time to let go of his beliefs and fight.

Eragon packed his belongings in less than five minutes. He took the saddle Oromis had given them, strapped it onto Saphira and slung his bags over her back and buckled them down.

Saphira tossed her head, nostrils flared. '_I will wait for you at the field.´ _She launched herself from the tree house, unfolding her blue wings in midair, and flew off, skimming the forest canopy.

Eragon ran to Tialdari hall, where he found Orik sitting in his usual corner, playing a game of runes. The dwarf greeted him with a hearty slap on the arm. `Eragon! What brings you here so early? I thought you'd be banging swords with Vanir."

"Saphira and I are leaving,"

Orik turned serious within the second. "You've had news?"

"I'll tell you about it on our way back. Are you coming?"

"You'd jave to clap me in iron before I'd stay behind! When do we leave?"

"Within the hour. Gather your things and meet us at the sparring grounds. Can you scrounge up a week's worth of provisions for the two of us?"

"A week's? But that won't-"

'We're flying."

Orik turned pale. "We dwarves don't do well with heights, Eragon. We don't do well at all. It'd be better if we could horses, like we did coming here."

Eragon shook his head. "That would take too long. The Varden is about to be under attack and we need to be there now. Besides; riding is easy. Saphira will catch you if you fall."

Orik did not appear remotely convinced. Leaving the dwarf behind for the moment, Eragon hurried towards the field where Saphira was waiting for him. Then, they flew to the Crags of Tel'naeír.

Oromis was sitting upon Glaedr's right forearm when they landed in the clearing. The dragon's scales gilded the landscape in brilliant chips of golden light and neither of them was moving. Aeraleth and Spartan were already there, armed for war. Though Spartan was always armed for war…

"Master Glaedr. Master Oromis."

'_You too have taken it upon yourself to return to the Varden, have you not?'_

'_We have,'_ replied Saphira.

Eragon's sense of betrayal nearly overcame his self-restraint. "Why did you hide the truth from us? Did you tell _them_ of the attack on the Varden? Why would you keep us here with such tricks!"

Calm as ever, Oromis gave his reply. '_Do you wish to hear why?'_

'_Very much, Master,'_ Said Saphira before Eragon could respond. She scolded him in private. '_Be polite!´_

"Spartan found out that his team was still alive by scrying them, much like I guess you have scryed your friends in the Varden. We withheld the tidings for two reasons. Most importantly, we ourselves did not know of the Varden's threat until a few days ago. The true size, location and movements of the Empire's trops remained concealed from us until one day ago, when Lord Däthedr pierced the spells Galbatorix used to deceive our scrying."

"One day ago? You could have us tonight, Master. Why is Islanzadí not rousing the elves to fight? Nasuada needs them."

"She has roused the elves, Eragon. The forest echoes with the ring of hammers, the tramp of armoured boots and the grief of those who are about to be parted. For the first time in a century, our race is set to emerge from Du Weldenvarden and challenge our greatest foe." Gently, Oromis added: "You have been distracted of late, Eragon, and I understand why. Now you must look beyond your hatred of the cruelties of war. The world demands your attention."

"I understand."

"Very well. The four of you have done well, considering the enormous responsibilities we have asked you to shoulder. We expect to receive a missive from Nasuada in the next few days, requesting assistance that you rejoin the Varden. I intended to inform you of their predicament then, when you would still have enough time to reach Surda before swords are drawn. If I told you earlier, you would have been honour-bound to abandon your training and rush to defend your liegelord.

"If the Varden are destroyed, my training won't matter."

"No. But you and Spartan may be the only ones who can prevent the Varden from being destroyed, for a chance exists –slim but terrible- that the king himself will be present at this battle. That means you two would have had to face him alone, without the protection of our warriors. Under those circumstances, your training was the most vital to our efforts."

"I'm not ready to face Galbatorix, not nearly as ready as I wanted to be," declared Eragon. He looked at Spartan, who was busy gathering some sort of black powder instead of paying attention to them.

"And neither should you think you are. But…there is also a chance that he will not be there. It is what we must hope for. In the meantime, I have gifts of parting for the both of you. Spartan? You do not possess a Rider's sword. I do hope that you will find some way to face off against the more resilient foes without it. Eragon? You do possess such a sword. As such, the two gifts I possess need to be evenly divided. For now, to bolster your magic, I have here the necklace of Anghar the Builder. The cord is nigh-impervious to damage, making it extremely hard to lose it. The gem attached to it has been found in a crater in the deepest parts of our forest; it can hold grand amounts of energy. In the moment of need, the vast amounts of energy that can be stored will be more than sufficient to overcome all but the gravest of threats. Then, I have the belt of Beloth the Wise. Seven powerful gems, all in all capable of holding perhaps even more energy than the necklace of Anghar. Now, who shall choose which?"

Spartan acted before Eragon could even process the implications of the gifts and took the necklace in his armoured gauntlet. "Thank you ebrithil."

Oromis then removed a long black-and-blue sword belt from the pouch, which he handed to Eragon. It felt unusually thick and heavy to him when he ran it through his hands. At Oromis' instruction, Eragon pulled at a decoration at the end of the belt and gasped as a strip in its center slid back to expose seven diamonds, each an inch across. Four were black, two were red and one was yellow. They glittered cold and brilliant, casting a rainbow in Eragon's hands.

"Master…" Eragon shook his head. "Is it safe to give this to me?"

"Both of you must guard the gifts well so that none are tempted to steal it."

After that, Oromis exchanged the traditional elf greeting with the two of them and bid them farewell, without hesitating or doubting. He was letting them go.

And they were being let go. For all his new abilities and experience, Eragon still felt like a child who was being granted freedom by his father. But perhaps that wasn't neccesarily a _bad_ thing after all.

* * *

Aeraleth stopped her movements near the Menoa tree, where a clearing just large enough to accommodate her wings. Her Rider explained to her that he had someone he wanted to visit before they would depart on their journey and that she would have to wait a few 'mikes', whatever those were supposed to be.

But she cared not for the limitations of time, as her mood was too good to be ruined by something like that. Not only had their time for true combat come, she felt more ready for those things than ever. She could feel an infernal fire burning deep inside of her body, ready to be tapped into at a moment's notice. Her Rider and her had spent the last few days completely together, separated not even by the night, as Maine now officially slept at her side instead of at the barracks. Despite of his initial irritation at the uselessness of the Forerunner Gilderien, his mood was better than it had been before. He no longer took offense at the presence of other living creatures and, as proven by his duel with the two armed elves just a few days back, the memories of his death-fits did nothing to ruin his confidence.

She laid down in the grass and placed her head on the ground. Her Rider was smart enough to not waste time in preparations of war and there were very few people that cared for him, so he wouldn't take very long to bid his goodbyes to whomever it was he wanted to talk to. He had prepared all of his weapons beforehand and that had given them a brief moment of peace. The soldier had even explained to her that he expected a conflict wherever he went, so he was always prepared

Aeraleth had told him that it was not healthy to fear being preyed on all the time, as the stress would stop him from escaping the predator when it did arrive. He had agreed.

They had shared much more of their feelings since the Celebration, as if their voyage into the alien ruins had strengthened their bond. But Aeraleth knew the true reason for that; her distress and pain inside of that fearsome room had shocked him so deeply that he had thought he would lose her. She had felt his fear for her life and she knew what that had caused. She didn't want him to feel distressed like that, but she was still glad that it had made him realize that they still had so much more to share with each other.

And, keeping that thought alive, her Rider had in fact shared something personal with her that he would have otherwise never told her. When Eragon had finally beat Vanir in combat, she had felt content that the young Rider had finally reached a new height. Maine had not felt very content, despite him secretly approving of the elf being taken down a notch. When she had asked him why he was unhappy with that, he had said that Eragon had not 'suffered' due to his transformation. She had initially said that she could understand that, as the both of them had always had to fight tooth and nail for everything.

Then he had shared something rather interesting with her. Her beloved partner-of-mind had undergone a similar transformation in his youth, that much she knew. But what she had not known was that her Rider had spent at least three days recovering from the effects of the transformation _alone, _after the procedure had completely crippled his body with pain and other terrible effects that he had not been willing to tell. It had horrified her to hear that her Rider had suffered so intensely at his own change. It made her understand that rider was truly forged for war by fire alone, instead of the soothing magic of the memories of her race. And like that, she could very much see how he would dislike Eragon having been turned into part-elf without any form of compensation at all.

But that was just how they were. Eragon had given things of his own to get where he was now and her Rider had always been ready to sacrifice everything for his goal. Though his very cunning lack of details regarding the exact details of time and age were disturbing to her, she knew where her own part to play lay. She would support her Rider, no matter what path he chose. His past would not haunt him as long as she was there to protect him from it.

It took Maine longer to return to her than she had expected and when he did come, he was not alone. She had not expected him to take anyone with him, but there really was someone with him. She could smell the scent of elf in the air and more than that. She could _see_ the presence of both of them. The dark-green outline of her Rider and the greyish outline of the person accompanying him. That was…new. She had not expected that to happen. She had grown accustomed to her Rider's weight meaning nothing to her now, ever since their nightly voyage, but this had never occurred before. How very ominous.

She blinked a few times and the outlines faded away. That was better.

'_What took you so long, little soldier?'_

'_Someone wanted to say goodbye to you.'_

Someone wanted to say goodbye to her? Weren't the elves all supposed to be preparing for war? Who wanted to stay behind to bid her farewell?

'_Did you allow this person to come with you?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_Why?'_

No answer. Curious. There was really one person in the forest now that the young soldier could tolerate in his presence and the peculiar scent that Aeraleth smelled only served to prove her suspicions.

The pair of two-legs emerged from the forest and proved her right; Maine was accompanied by Daenlith, who was clad in regal-looking armour. There were pieces of black leather wrapped around her chest and waist, metallic plates protecting her forearms and thighs. She looked every bit as elegant as the noble elves from the halls who scorned her so easily, though there was a simplicity of clothes versus armor. Aeraleth personally preferred it when two-legs fought naked, as no dragon would ever drape the hide of their prey over their magnificent scales. But they did not possess scales and that made them weak.

Well…her Rider was capable of fighting like a dragon even without his suit. That made her proud.

Daenlith started the elaborated greeting that these elves so preferred and Aeraleth returned it.

"You two are leaving for Surda now"

'_Indeed. Our ally awaits our arrival with desperation.´ _She projected her inner voice to her Rider as well, so that he would not be at the receiving end of a half conversation.

"So I heard. We are leaving the forests ourselves, marching to make war."

'_The Empire soldiers can't hope to best all the races united against them.'_

"The king is cunning and cruel. He will resort to trickery to win."

"Don't worry," said Maine, "we'll make it."

Aeraleth remembered that this one had a very negative outlook on the war. Hope would only be an idle insult to her, as it had been to the other elves who doubted Eragon and Maine.

'_Did you not long to move with your race towards the fight? To finally seek the destruction of those who wronged you and your kin?'_ She asked.

"I do. Gëda and I shall finally draw blades side by side…something we have been looking forward to."

Her words said one thing, but her voice another. Was Gëda not her close friend? The one whom even Maine respected?

'_Should you not be preparing for combat, like the rest?'_

The elf smiled rather smugly. "I am already prepared for combat. I have been for years."

By tooth and claw, there were two of them!

"Good," commented Maine. The two fell silent then, probably unable to find other words.

Her Rider was the first to speak up again and when he did, Aeraleth thought he had bumped his head against the inside of her helmet.

"Why don't you come with us?"

Aeraleth and Daenlith reacted nearly at the same time.

'_What?'_

"What?"

But the soldier did not even understand that he had just surprised anyone. How like him. "If you don't like marshalling with the elves, come with us."

Where had he pulled _that _breed of logic from?

"You misunderstood my words, Spartan," commented the elf, but Maine did not allow her to finish.

"During the Agaeti Blödhren, you said you did not like being among your kind. That they thought too differently from you."

"And you remember that?"

"Yes."

Perhaps the elves descended into madness during the Celebration, but Aeraleth's Spartan sure did not.

…he did it during the normal day.

"I would not wish to burden Aeraleth," replied Daenlith, to which Aeraleth responded with much contempt.

'_Burden me? I could carry ten of your kind and still not be burdened, little elf!'_

"She can handle it," commented Maine. "Besides; don't you want to fly?"

"I do," Daenlith softly replied. "But I do not seek to impose-"

"You don't," Maine cut in. "Settled? We're moving. The Varden is outnumbered and my Cee Ow needs reinforcements."

"Your…your what?"

'_Don't start,_' Aeraleth advised the elf. Then she lowered her right shoulder for her Rider to climb on. They had tested how much his weight would burden her in various ways over the course of the past few days and they had come to the conclusion together that, while he still weighed exactly the same as before, his weight no longer burdened her in any way. He could even jump on top of her –with the force to crush a Kull- and still do nothing to her neck or head. She could lift him with her tail like she could lift any elf, human and dwarf and she could do it with her tail. It was really something magical, as she still did not feel any different.

Maine mounted her and, after another moment of hesitation, so did the elf.

Aeraleth could barely wait until Daenlith had found a place to hang on before she spread her wings and jumped in the air. Then she brought her wings down with enough force to buffet the forest with wind and instantly won the height she needed to properly start flying.

It was obvious that Daenlith had never flown before. Aeraleth could nearly feel her heart beating with the same speed as a terrified rodent. The elf was hanging on with clenched hands to one of the spikes on her back, larger than the one Maine sat between, with more force than was necessary. The little pointy-ear was obviously horrified because of the flying, but why? Was it the altitude? If so, she should know that Aeraleth would catch her if she fell. There really was nothing to fear for the elf, but it was amusing to smell her fear.

Underneath her, the pathless forest stretched wide to the horizon, fading as it did from the deepest green to a blurred patch. Various birds exploded from the trees in not-so-unfamiliar terror as they beheld her. Who could have thought that that an _elf _of all beings would be so scared of flying? How did the they ever make Riders like this?

This was the first time when she and Maine had the opportunity to fly together over a great stretch of ground. She was very pleased with the trip, as she could show just how much her training with the aged Glaedr had increased her strength and endurance. It was a pity that she had never flown such a distance with him before, as he now had nothing to compare her skills to. She would have to impress him all over again now.

As Du Weldenvarden sped underneath them, gaps in the branches and trees often revealed patches of silver; sections of many rivers that threaded the forest. It was a good sign to behold, the pureness of the forest. If the Oath-breaker were to take the fight to the elves, he would have to fight the entire forest. Countless of lives would be wasted. That was one more reason to oppose him; to save the lives he would otherwise claim.

When dusk arrived, they had already left Du Weldenvarden behind and entered the fields that separated the great forest from the Hadarac Desert. But she was not yet tired enough to want to stop and one of the agreements that she and her Rider had, was that they would only stop traveling when one of them was too tired to continue.

She had yet to see him being too tired to travel. Daenlith had finally managed to overcome her fear of the height and she finally talked, after hours of silence. There wasn't much talking when one traveled with a Spartan and an elf, it seemed. But Aeraleth was more content to listen and feel instead of talking. Her bond with her Rider was deep enough for it to make most direct communication unnecessary; his feelings spoke for him and hers spoke for her. At the moment, Maine was satisfied. Satisfied with whatever had happened in the dark alien den, satisfied with finally leaving the endless forest and satisfied with who was traveling with them.

They kept flying through the night and soon, the rippling grass gave way to tan drier plants, until eventually all plants grew so scarce that only the hardiest ones remained. They had reached the Hadarac desert, where the lines of sand created large dust-clouds as the air buffeted the sand. The normal heat of the desert harmed them not, though she did feel chilled to the bone in turn. Maine was not fazed by the sheer cold, but Daenlith was not clothed for the cold effects of the sky. She could feel the elf shivering on her back, unable to properly warm herself like dragons could.

That was an effect of the sitting still; the more one moved, the more one was able to resist the cold. But the night was long and their provisions were very low; Maine had taken the barest amount of supplies with them in thinking that he would not need any. As such, they were actually underprepared to undergo a journey of this scale.

Aeraleth spotted a small rock outcropping and took her chance. '_Maine, we must wait for the sunrise to continue.'_

'_Why?'_

She exhaled a plume of smoke. '_Because the cold will claim Daenlith otherwise.'_

'_Is it so cold?'_

'_You taught me that nightly deserts are the most desolate and chilling of places. We will stop.'_

'_Affirmative.'_

She landed near the rocks and settled there for the night. The air had gotten so cold that she was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable herself; this time, she couldn't comment Maine for his toughness. His suit saved his hide from the cold and they both knew it. Daenlith did not have that protection and neither did she have thick scales to protect her. Aeraleth felt obligated to protect her, even if her Rider did not notice that. But the strange thing was that that desire had stemmed from the Spartan's own feelings of protection towards the elf. He hadn't forgotten about that…had he? The protection of their friend should have been his first priority and it just wasn't _like _him to take an unwise decision regarding those things.

"Come on," Maine told Daenlith, "we're resting the night here."

The elf did not reply; the cold had most likely numbed her. Perhaps it had been unwise to fly so high? Only because the air was so dry did her wings remain devoid of ice-crystals and the two-legged beings always were susceptible to extremes, be it cold or heat.

Her Rider assisted their friend in getting to the ground and then asked: "Can you breathe fire yet?"

'_Not yet. I can feel my insides burning at times, but there is no fire yet.'_ It shamed her that she couldn't breathe fire yet; her body just wasn't mature enough for the infernal wrath of her ancestors to be summoned just yet and that was frustrating. It was so close, yet so far away.

Aeraleth folded one wing closely against her side and spread the other one, allowing the two small warriors to rest against her body through the night. Maine then used magic to pull water up through the deepest bowels of the earth, replenishing his own supply as well as quenching their thirst. Aeraleth wanted to take it easy despite her aching throat, but Maine told her that he had enough energy to steadily dump a small part into his necklace as well as keep the water up. He had tied the ornament to his waist, next to tone of the pockets where he kept his ammo. It was peculiar gift, that necklace. It could hold vast amounts of energy, yet it fit in her Rider's hand with ease.

"Is it always that cold?" Asked Daenlith, having recovered from her shivers.

"Only when we fly this high," replied Maine.

"I tried to use magic to warm myself, but it did not aid me."

"It would cost as much energy as we safe warmth. Actually, as magic doesn't make perfect use of bodily energy, you would lose more energy than you'd win heat."

"I tried isolating the air."

"Same thing. Thermodynamics."

"Thermo-what?"

What was her Rider talking about now?

"Nevermind. Feeling better? "

"I do. I have never experienced something like that…it was not a pleasant experience."

"When the sun rises, it will be warm enough to get out of the desert. We'll head for Surda then."

Aeraleth could imagine that the Varden could not be the most pleasant place to be for the elf, but at least Arya was there too. The people would be accustomed to Arya and Maine as well, making matters less awkward for Daenlith. The elf soldiers would probably not miss her that much, since Maine had explained that elves did not march in a formation. The only one who would notice that she was gone, was Gëda. And he would not criticize her for doing what she thought was right.

"And then? Will we directly oppose the king's army?"

"Yes."

"Will it be enough though? What if he is there to lead his forces? Eragon and you won't stand a chance."

"That's a negative outlook."

"That's reality. Do you have a plan to kill him?"

"I thought I'd try shooting him. Get creative."

The elf sighed audibly and Aeraleth closed her eyes, feeling assured that her Rider would be able to hold his own on this conversation. He needed to learn someday. The two of them were sitting against her flank, protected by the dark membrane of the wing she had folded over them in an attempt to keep the heat in. "If destroying the king was so easy, the Riders of old would have done it."

"The Riders didn't have me. Or the UNSC."

"Do you think you can kill him? If you were to encounter him in this fight, could you beat the Oath-breaker?"

And then her Rider spoke the words that made her cringe. "Yes, I could."

He even did it in the ancient language…she couldn´t believe it. He was either extremely overconfident, or deeply delusional. Perhaps a bit of both. Dozens of Riders had failed to kill the king; his power was so severe that the entire effort of all the races in Alagaesia had been to waste. How? How could Maine hope to beat that monster? He was strong and brave, but that wasn't enough. It was never enough. The memories of a thousand cries told her that he had no chance in this conflict on his own…and if he believed otherwise, he was lethally overconfident –lethally in the sense that it would get him killed.

And judging by Daenlith's lack of response, Aeraleth knew that she wasn't the only one who thought so.


	22. Bloodbath of the Burning Plains Pt I

On the second night after leaving Du Weldenvarden, the wind rose up behind them. Maine recognized the direction in which it blew and decided that they were going to ride it all the way out of the Empire.

He woke his partner up with a flick of his mind and informed her of his idea. She wasn't very amused by the interruption, but she understood that it was necessary. She had endured enough hardship to understand when to take chances, despite things like exhaustion and wounds. Of course, she was as fit as he was. Her training with Glaedr had vastly improved her endurance.

´_If need may be, ´_ she told him, ´_I can fly for days at an end.´_

´_Good. We may need to.'_

He strapped what little supplies they had (including the light-weighted EFSU, much to his annoyance) to her body and moved to wake their elf companion, but she stirred when he approached her.

_That was easy,_ he thought. "We're leaving."

She was silent for a moment. "I do not sense danger. Why are we leaving?"

"The wind will carry us if we move now."

Daenlith nodded. "I see."

Very easy. Without having to spent half an hour convincing a stubborn elf to come with them, they were ready to move in just a few minutes. Maine could see the passage where he and Aeraleth had crossed the desert to the Beor Mountains, back when she was still the size of a small horse. How the times had changed since then; he had spent up to two months with her and she had grown larger than a Covenant Phantom. If he were to encounter a Scarab with her, she might even be capable of tearing it apart. If only she was capable of breathing fire.

The wind, as he had predicted, rose up behind them and took Aeraleth farther than she could have flown on her own, carrying them all the way out of the Hadarac desert. When the sun had risen again, Maine hit the magnification on his visor and observed the terrain that was to come. They had the sun in their back as well as the wind now; they could gain the drop on even the largest city and destroy its central infrastructure before anyone had noticed them.

He saw a village with perhaps fifty buildings and one larger structure. Something in there was gleaming and reflecting sunlight in a way that seemed oddly familiar to him.

"Daenlith," he commented, "you see that?"

"The human village?"

"Affirmative."

"What about it?"

He frowned and wished his helmet could zoom stronger. He could just make out the shapes of horses…running spots that were civilians…and a large section of the city was still reflecting, almost likei t was made out of metal instead of stone and wood.

'_I think we encountered the enemy, little soldier.'_

'_Explain yourself.'_

She took a deep breath through her nose and softly exhaled. '_I can see many humans down there. Some are red, others are not.'_

'_Red? Empire soldiers?'_

'_See for yourself.'_

He felt her mind brushing against his and allowed her in. For a moment, his vision blurred and colours were all warped. Then, when it stabilized, he concluded that his helmet had somehow malfunctioned. The entire world was made out of shades of gray, black and white. Shadows were elongated and stretched and the sky was brighter than it had been before. Yet he could also see every single detail with vivid clarity; the creatures on the ground, the rippling of Aeraleth's muscles and the aesthetics of his gauntlets, which he observed with mild curiosity.

'_What did you-'_

'_You are seeing the world through my eyes now.'_

'_Good, I thought I had gone insane. Do you always see the world that dark?'_

'_It is bright to me.'_

'_Very well. Why?'_

'_Look at the village.'_

Aeraleth had slowed down so that he could properly scout the area. When he looked at the village with her vision, he noticed that there were many dozens of individuals spreading through the village. Soldiers, armoured and armed. At least half a dozen of them were shining in a bright tint of red, which was specifically odd.

'_Why the red?'_

'_I don't know. Sometimes, when I concentrate, I can see people in different…colours. Green, blue or red. It is odd.'_

'_Considering you always see things in shades of gray, yeah. What does red look like to you?'_

'_Like red. There are still colours little soldier, but I see them differently.'_

"Spartan?" asked Daenlith. Maine knew that he was leaving her hanging there, but he didn't really care at the moment. He could make out screaming from the village, but he could not pick up anything else.

"We're going in."

"In the village? Why?"

Aeraleth shook her head and Maine's vision returned to normal again. After having seen in such twilight, normal colours were oddly bright to him. "`There are imperial soldiers there."

"Then we will take the fight to them."

It wasn't a question, but a message. A statement. He liked it. "Confirmed. Aeraleth?"

'_Let us draw the Empire's blood.'_

There they had it. Time for war.

'_Bring us in,´_ he ordered her. ´_Strafing run.´_

_´Strafing run?'_

He hesitated for a moment, thinking how best to describe it when ships got up close and personal at high speed, delivering lethal ordnance to hapless troops. In the end he settled for showing her a memory of half a dozen Banshees racing at him, plasma pelting the ground underneath his feet and the humming of the air as the craft grew closer.

Aeraleth was silent for a few seconds, before telling him that she would like to do that when she finally learned how to breathe fire. '_How did you survive that anyway?'_

He recalled the memory of him blasting two of the Banshees out of the air, before sky-jacking a third.

'_You belong in the sky as much as on the ground,'_ she told him.

Then he showed her a memory of him horribly crashing the vehicle when he hit a tree. '_I like the ground better.'_

Aeraleth chuckled, a deep vibration running through her body. '_Let's get you on the ground then.'_

'_Agreed.'_

The dragon descended at high-speed and flew low towards the city, sweeping down at the troops that were invading it.

"Daenlith?"

"What are you going to do Spartan?" asked the elf, holding on tight to Aeraleth's spikes.

"Follow me."

"What-"

At seven meters high, Aeraleth swept over the streets and he jumped. His stomach lurched at the sudden deceleration and this time, he caught a hint of a conversation. The slow people had yet to react to the dragon that just sailed past them.

"Please, not my son! He's not even of age yet!"

"Don't care for that, you cow. He's manly enough; he comes with us!"

People then started to scream even as Maine landed on the ground with a massive 'thud'. His knees absorbed a part of the shock and he rolled with the momentum, dissipating the sheer force that would have otherwise affected his shields.

"Dragon!"

"It's the Varden!"

The Spartan was up and about before the soldiers could even react. Without using his weapons, he slew four soldiers in even less seconds and set his sights on the commanding officer of the company.

The problem was that there were easily fifty soldiers standing between him and the man. The civilians were screaming and running and one woman was leading a kid no older than fifteen by his arm, guiding him away from the carnage.

"It's him!" yelled a soldier.

Maine, who didn't know if Daenlith had had the courage to jump off of a flying dragon or not, didn't worry for a second about his enemy outnumbering him. He had a few new tricks up his sleeve and he was eager to test them.

He muttered the elfish word that stood equal to heart and added the word for river, formulating a spell that pinched off the Aorta right at the heart.

The effect was not immediate and he barely felt the shift of energy. But when he took a few steps forward and unsheathed his combat knife, many men suddenly cried out and collapsed on the ground, convulsing and thrashing as their heart gave out on them.

Maine felt the desire to smile. This was going to be _so _easy. Charging forward, he caught the first man right under his chin with an uppercut. He spun around the body and kicked another soldier in the face, turning his head to a pulp. His actions and their reactions were roughly equal to when he had first fought a two-hundred large army near Uru'baen. His weight and force was still the same, so he could not be lighter. It had to be something on Aeraleth's end that she could now carry him with no trouble.

He tore a spear out of the arms of a nearby soldier, broke his neck with a single strike and used the spear to stab another three men to death. At the fourth men, the shaft splintered and broke. He used the useless piece of wood to lash out at a different soldier, but the only result was that the man got knocked out by the blow to his helmet. Useless.

He let the splintered fragments fall to the ground and prepared another spell, but Aeraleth swept down out of nowhere and crushed at least five men with her sheer bulk and grabbing another few in the claws on her hind-legs. She had made enough speed to appear and disappear in just a few seconds before she took the air again, much like a Banshee racing by. The enemy's ranks were noticeable thinner.

What was better was that Daenlith had finally gathered the courage to leave Aeraleth; she had landed right behind the enemy position and from the looks of it, she excelled at causing mayhem.

The fight was over in the span of a minute. By the time Maine dropped the lifeless body of the last soldier. Daenlith had reached the men in charge. She had pressed against the ground by his head with one hand, her eyes closed and her body still

He saw that she was breaking into the mind of the soldier and waited until she was done. The man gasped and quivered once, after which he went limp, dead.

"And?" asked the Spartan.

"These men were sent to round up new recruits," replied the elf.

Maine remembered the woman who had ran away with the boy and the desperate screams before he had interrupted their mission. How the soldiers had wanted to draft the kid into their army by force.

"Is this how Galbatorix gets his soldiers?" he asked.

"I would not know."

Motivated by the defeat of the small army sent to attack their village, the civilians carefully emerged again. Maine saw several heads popping out of cover, looking scared and distrusting. He heard them whispering, talking about them in negative light.

'_Aeraleth? Prepare to pick us up.'_

'_Yes. Be careful little soldier.'_

'_Always.'_

"You're safe now," said the Spartan, wishing to test his luck. "The Empire won't get to you."

"They'll be coming for us now," said a man. "You killed their soldiers, now they will for us all!"

Arguments. Good. "If the Empire wants to hurt you for the Varden killing their soldiers, they're tyrants. People can overthrow tyrants."

More whispers.

"You ally yourself with elves!" shrieked a woman. "Non-humans have nothing to do with this!"

"No," he carefully said, "they do. Galbatorix wants to end them as much as resisting humans."

Aeraleth touched down a dozen meters away from him and the civvies immediately shrank back to the relative safety of their houses.

"One way or the other, the Empire _will _force you into this conflict," he told whoever was still listening. "He won't show mercy, even if you did nothing. Time to choose."

'_We are leaving,'_ Aeraleth told him. '_We need to get to the Varden in time, remember?'_

'_Acknowledged.'_ He beckoned to Daenlith and made his way back to his bonded partner. Nobody tried to stop him and nobody talked to him. The village was dead quiet.

"What made you stop there?" his elf companion asked him later, when they were back on course to Surda.

"What?"

"The village. Why stop there?"

He considered her question for a brief moment, as he was not entirely sure of what she meant. "Aeraleth spotted hostiles. Eliminating Empire soldiers when the possible is a viable tactical choice."

"So it was purely tactical?"

"Yes."

They were silent for the remaining portion of their journey, which took them to the southernmost end of the silverwood forest near Furnost. Maine didn't go to sleep directly, opting instead to watch as Daenlith prepared herself for the night. It had occurred to him in the past that elves needed little sleep to function in battle and what he had seen during the skirmish earlier that day, she was no push-over. Of course, all elves were better fighters on this world than humans were. Daenlith had been capable of fighting him on equal ground with a sword and actually beating him. It made him figure just how much sleep they actually needed and whether or not Daenlith would hold out longer than him.

Not that he was going to test that idea. He was soon going to face the actual Empire army and he needed to be fit enough to dispatch of their soldiers. It was a bit strange that, after having spent so long fighting for mankind, he was now back to slaying ordinary men and women. But all the Insurrectionists he had fought had also been human and their deaths had not been unfortunate in any way. He had seen that the Empire resorted to forcing underage boys into their armies when their forces should be large enough on their own –so needlessly, unlike the SPARTAN projects.

Aeraleth probably sensed that he was musing too long. '_Do try to get some rest, little soldier,´_ she commented. ´_We will arrive at the Varden tomorrow.´_

She was right. He shouldn't be overthinking things; that was Wren's job. The Captain was still alive and after weeks of isolation on this world, the man should have a good idea of what to do and expect.

Although the UNSC forces had probably never seen an elf before. Or a dragon, for that matter. Perhaps it would be wiser to brief them before he introduced them to his new allies. He wasn't about to let them be harmed by trigger-happy marines

It was late afternoon when they arrived at the city known as Aberon, the main headquarters of the Varden. It was a low, walled city that was centered around a bluff in normally flat landscape. A castle occupied the top of the bluff and the citadel was protected by three layers of walls, numerous towers and weapons that he quickly identified as ballistae.

"Are you sure they're here?" Shouted Daenlith, not knowing that he could hear her whispers in a raging storm.

"No," he replied. "But we'll find them." He broadened his mental view just like Oromis had been teaching him and sought out any mind that felt different than the normal humans. Anything that might lead him to the UNSC forces on-site, as he had last seen them in the surroundings of the Varden.

He didn't find them. And neither did he find Raia, Nasuada or Arya. They were all gone. The most important persons to fight a war were missing from the capital, just like the armies. Conclusion? The battle would take place somewhere else.

Aeraleth circled above the city while Maine reconsidered his options. The fight had to take place somewhere tactically wise for the Varden, as they were hopelessly outnumbered. The Empire would take a region where they could field all their troops, not just the first lines. They would need provisions and water…so the Jiet River, which lay west of Surda. Somewhere along the River they would find the Varden.

'_Aeraleth, the river. Follow the river and pick up the Varden's trail.'_

She did not reply, choosing to comply with his order without words. Her superior senses would enable her to pick up the smell of thousands of marching soldiers with ease and even then, they would probably spot their tracks before the trail if the winds were against them. Even a Grunt could follow the tracks that an army on the march left on the ground.

As such, it did not take them very long to locate the Varden's army. It took them a few hours to make their way to the encampment though and it became gradually more obvious that the battle would take place in a rather unhospitable area. He could hear Daenlith coughing as Aeraleth descended through the layers of smoke, angling towards the Jiet River which was hidden behind the haze of smoke and vapors. He had read about this area, called the Burning Plains. It was similar to a place in the middle-east back on Earth, where a tar-pit had been lit on fire around Earth's middle-ages. It had been burning for centuries at an end and such was also the case with the Burning Plains. During the battle with the Forsworn, the dragons accidentally lit the substance underground on fire, creating a very unhospitable battlefield.

His helmet filtered out the fumes though, preventing any discomfort. Aeraleth closed in on the ground with haste and gradually, the air cleared. Only then did Maine get an unobstructed view of the battlefield: the large veil of black and red smoke bathed the ground in a rather strange tint of orange. The River was dead-ahead, thick and branching. Two armies were arrayed along the eastern banks of River, their commanders apparently having chosen that it wouldn't be worth the trouble to cross the Jiet. The southern army was small and entrenched behind multiple layers of defense, having taken a position that was actually defendable. He knew that the Varden was supported by the soldiers of Surda and the horses of a man called King Orrin. Yet their numbers were completely nothing compared to the army that was assembling in the North. Galbatorix' army was so large that it easily measured a mile wide at the front and multiple miles in length.

The Burning Plains themselves were only two miles large. It was racked with countless holes where fire sprang from and –from the looks of it- also the source of the smog. Only lichen grew there, giving the land a ghastly appearance. What idiot had chosen to take the fight to a place where both armies would perish in minutes? Nasuada had better have a plan to go with this, otherwise he was going to assert command himself.

Maine extended his mind as far as was tactically sound and tried to locate enemy magicians in the enemy ranks, pinpointing them for future strikes. He noticed that a severe wave of apprehension and even panic was rippling through the ranks of the Varden's army and. He could understand that though, as many of them only knew of Saphira, who was very blue.

It was only when the first line of archers opened fire on him that he understood that a panicked soldier was a jumpy one. At least these men were still capable of letting their training take over instead of their feelings. But harmless as they arrows were, they could still pick many holes in Aeraleth's sensitive wings.

He raised his right hand. "Letta!" He cried, opting to waste as little energy as possible. He had been gradually pouring energy into the necklace, which he had attached to his utility belt, but it was still far from full.

The volley of arrows parted and allowed them to fly right through them without getting harmed and Aeraleth folded her wings at her side, diving towards the ground to minimalize the target she represented. To Maine, redirecting the arrows subtly instead of stopping them dead in their tracks did not cost any energy at all.

Aeraleth opened her wings only a few dozen meters above the ground to slow her steep descent, aiming at an open space among the Varden's tents. She landed on her hind-legs first, her massive knees absorbing the shock, before the dropped on her front legs to further dissipate it.

"Never do that again," gasped Daenlith. "Or at least warn me."

"Next time," he promised.

He dismounted and the second he did, dozens of warriors gathered around Aeraleth with their weapons at the ready. How many of these men know that he was not their enemy? All of them probably, otherwise they would have attacked him already. Still, Maine did not like it when people threatened Aeraleth.

"Back off," he growled as he grabbed his Assault Rifle. Much to his surprise, every single one of them actually stepped backwards. He gazed over his shoulder and saw that Daenlith had also dismounted Aeraleth, which was probably why these men were even more apprehensive than normal.

How was she more threatening than him?

A large man strode from the soldiers' ranks, which Maine recognized as the Varden's weapon master from Farthen Dûr.

"Spartan," the man said with obvious hesitation. "You are here? We were not informed." He turned around and yelled at the soldiers to return to their post, now that the situation was under control.

"I didn't mean to cause panic," he told the weapon master.

"The soldiers are on edge, sir. I am ashamed that you were attacked. Were the three of you hurt?"

"Negative."

The man nodded, looking relieved. "Good. I am grateful to hear that. Shall I punish the men responsible?"

"No," Maine replied immediately. "It's natural for a soldier to reply to a threat. Tell them to watch their targets next time."

"Yes, Predator."

…predator? Seriously, that crap again?

'_It is amusing that they call me for stalking and call you for hunting.'_

'_You're the meat-eating dragon. Why am I the predator?'_

'_Because you jumped into the tunnel with urgals.'_

'_It was a sound tactical-'_

'_You jumped. Into. A tunnel. With urgals.'_

He sighed. "Take me to Nasuada."

"Lady Nasuada-"

"Do it." It was like the elves all over again…

The weapon master led him through the encampment towards the Command tent, while many a soldier dropped whatever they were doing to gawk at the sight that was a Spartan. Maine once again broadened his mental view –something which was very hard to do- and noticed that there were a few minds that escaped his understanding of Alagaesian men and women. One of them was Raia, who was quick to allow him access to her mind. Apparently, his touch was very easy to recognize. Others were…strange. Odd. And very familiar. He counted a total of nine of those minds, all of them fortified and all of them very capable of hiding their thoughts. Strange.

Three consciousnesses like that were residing in the Command tent, together with one he recognized as Orrin and a few guards. It was time to gather some information.

Daenlith and Aeraleth followed him closely, which might have been part of the reason that the weapon master was so nervous. Maine had seen it before in Farthen Dûr; elves were strange sights among humans and very few felt comfortable around them. He himself did not feel remotely comfortable around the elves, though the likes of Daenlith and Arya were an exception.

Before the weapon master could even tell them that they had now approached the place where their command structure was most likely situated, someone opened the tent and moved outside, holding a large rifle in his hands. It was a large, gruff-looking man with a black version of the UNSC Marine BDU. Maine recognized him as one of Wren's marines; a Sergeant First Class that talked very little. He had a stubble-beard and a large scar that ran over his nose, to the lower point of his jaw.

The Spartan looked at the Marine and the Marine looked at the Spartan. Then the Sergeant's eyes flicked towards Daenlith, who was standing a few feet away from Maine, and to Aeraleth, who towered above them even when she kept her body close to the ground.

"Eh…" the Marine muttered, before walking right back into the tent. Maine could still hear him. "Captain Wren, sir? You might want to see this."

"Busy Wilks…"

"It's the Spartan, sir. He's here. And he's got company."

"Two-Sierra seven? Really?"

"Yes sir."

Maine waited patiently until the Captain's sluggish mind had processed that information. A second or two later, the man had barged outside with his pistol at the ready. He knew that Wren had survived, but not how many crewmembers.

Just like the Sergeant First Class had done, Wren stared at the Spartan with open disbelief. He slowly turned to look at Daenlith, who actually looked pretty inquisitive. Then he looked at Aeraleth, who snorted with impatience.

And then the Captain frowned. "You actually got yourself bonded to a psychic reptile, two-Sierra?"

Maine, who did not like Aeraleth being called a psychic reptile in such a condescending way, frowned as well. He carefully thought his reply through though, as Wren was still his commanding officer. "Accidentally, sir. Aeraleth has proven to be a valuable ally and-"

"Wait, you named it?" asked the Captain. Why did the man sound so surprised?

"I named _her_, sir. And she proved herself to be invaluable in combat against native soldiers."

"You actually checked to see if it had…lady-parts?"

'_I told him myself,'_ Aeraleth mentally snapped at the Captain, sending her thoughts to Maine as well as Wren. And she sounded _pissed_.

The soldier did not have a response ready for that. Whatever he knew of this world, he had obviously not been informed of the mental capacity of dragons. He simply stared at Aeraleth as if she was an Admiral who had just told him to jump in the toilet. Needless to say, Wren was not amused.

"When," he carefully asked, "did this happen?"

"The same day we split up." Maine was silent for a few seconds, feeling extremely awkward now that he had actually regrouped with the UNSC. This wasn't what he had expected. "Where's the Pelican, sir? We might need reinforcements from the _When Duty Ends_-"

"Lost," replied Wren. His smile looked very bitter. "Sentinels attacked us and separated us from the ship."

"Casualties?"

"Zero."

That was fortunate to hear. Still, the Captain's motivations were an enigma. Why was he here? Why had he allied himself with the Varden? "Sir, the Empire has an army stationed to the North."

"I saw that, Spartan. We're going to fight it."

"Sir?"

"What?"

It was time to be honest. "Sir, what interest does the UNSC have in fighting Galbatorix? What interest does the Office have?"

Wren didn't answer immediately. "Neither the UNSC nor ONI holds any interest in this conflict. Our priority is to get our ship back and leave."

So it was like that. "And then?"

"Then we carry out repairs and get the hell out of this place."

Maine couldn't do that. "Sir, we can't leave yet."

"And why not?"

When Maine couldn't directly formulate the words that he wanted to say, Daenlith spoke for him. "He has an obligation to protect the innocent." When she didn't speak the elf language, she had a very exotic accent. Even Wren, who had just interrupted a Spartan mid-conversation, did not interject her. "As a Rider, he has to see this war through."

Maine could imagine that the Captain had a lot of trouble constantly recollecting himself, what with the dragons and elves and magic. But much to his credit, it didn't take the man any longer to pick himself up than during normal conversations. "Lady, he holds no obligation to this world in any way. On the contrary; he holds and obligation to the people of Earth."

"Earth?" She softly asked Maine.

"Our homeworld," he replied. To Wren, he said: "The protection of mankind, whatever the cost."

"Indeed."

"These people are human."

This time Wren did not look agitated or annoyed. Only mildly surprised. "I know. So is their enemy."

"The King is a dictator who would pose a threat to the UNSC should they colonize this world."

"Spartan, why do you think we are here? And not far away from the battlefield?" Wren then asked him.

Maine did not immediately understand what the man meant, but Daenlith did. "You would fight for the Varden?"

Now it was Wren's turn to remain quiet. He turned back to the tent and, with a small gesture, beckoned Maine to follow him.

'_Your leader is a pleasant man,'_ Aeraleth told him with a frustrated tone.

'_Was that sarcasm?'_

'_What do you think?'_

He refrained from commenting. Still, Aeraleth had a point. Captain Wren had grown quite unpleasant to talk to after all these weeks. Maine couldn't wrap his head around what had to be done after this fight; the Captain's intent was all too clear; leave this world and continue fighting. But he didn't want to leave yet…he had a duty to perform here as well as with the UNSC.

…he was already feeling a new headache coming up. The rest of the people inside of the pavilion had better not test his patience.

"Be careful, Spartan," Daenlith commented.

"Be quiet," he snarled at her. Then he marched into the large tent and mentally prepared himself for a new conflict. The first thing he saw was that the scarred Sergeant he had seen before stood in the back of the tent, while a smaller and young-looking Lance Corporal stood by his side. Upon seeing the Spartan, the Sergeant crossed his arms and gave him a curt nod. When Daenlith followed him inside, both of the soldiers stared at her with distracted expressions. Why was it that almost every soldier he met had to stop whatever they were doing to stare at the elves? First Arya and now this.

"What is this…thing!" said a royal-looking man who could only be the king. He had shoulder-length hair held back by a gold crown. Maine assumed that he was talking about him, as the man had been staring at Daenlith just a second before.

"That 'thing' would be the Spartan, your majesty. Remember? Our war-winning trump-card?"

The king coughed, his attitude dropping instantly. "Ah, yes, Spartan, our second Rider. Do forgive me…I remember that Nasuada said our second Rider might look different. My name is Orrin, son of Larkin."

"He doesn't mind," said Wren. "Tell him what you told us."

Orrin looked annoyed by the lack of respect that the Captain was giving him, but he did not call him out on that. He was probably unnerved by the presence of the three soldiers that came from outer space. The two guards next to him were wise to keep their mouths shut and their gazes straight. "Yes. Let's see…"

As Orrin told him how he and Nasuada had learned about Galbatorix' army and the desperate measures they had resorted to since in order to reach the Burning Plains, Maine searched the camp for Raia again and told her to meet him in half an hour, outside the encampment.

"The Empire arrived three days ago. Since then, we've exchanged two messages. First they asked for our surrender, which we naturally refused. Now we are waiting for their reply."

"How many?" growled Maine. There was something about the people around him that greatly annoyed him. Aeraleth was wise to stay outside, but he wished that she would at least stick her head inside of the pavilion.

"We estimate Galbatorix mustered as many as forty-thousand soldiers."

That was an awful lot. "How will you counter them?"

"Nasuada and I have conjured up a plan, don't you worry."

"I'm not."

"Ah…good. Yes…well, we shall have to wait until Eragon arrives, for his presence is required for our actual plans."

"In that case, your majesty, we would take our leave now. We have much to discuss and until the arrival of young…Eragon…there won't be anything useful to discuss. "

"But of course, Captain. If you need anything else…just give one of the men a call. We will supply you."

Wren courteously thanked the king and then subtly beckoned for Maine to move out. The Spartan obeyed the Captain without hesitation, but not before telling Daenlith and Aeraleth to wait for him on the outskirts of the camp when he gave them the call.

Then, he followed the three soldiers to a large tent right at the riverbed, where three more soldiers were waiting for him. One was an Asian-looking Specialist, one was a glasses-wearing First Lieutenant and the last one was a Flight Officer, who looked the least prepared for combat of all three of them. The two males did not visibly tense up when they saw him and the female did. Curious. Had he seen these men before? Not many soldiers could look at him without some outward reaction. Had they always been doing that? Or did he not care up to now?

The trio of soldiers saluted Captain Wren. Then, the Captain and Maine both entered the tent without anyone following them in. It looked like Wren wanted a private talk. Too bad that a certain psychic reptile was listening in.

"Spartan," said the Captain. "Telepathy…magic…_dragons_. Why am I finding you in the middle of all this?"

"It's a long story."

'_Actually it's not that long. '_

'_It's a figure of speech.'_

"Give me the short, sweet version."

The Spartan took a breath. "I infiltrated the capital city, Uru'baen. I procured what I thought was their treasure, as it was heavily guarded."

"Don't tell me this is going to end with you hatching an egg."

"I exfiltrated the city with the treasure, killed a large group of enemy soldiers and made my way south."

"And…?"

There was no other way to put this. "And then the egg hatched."

The Captain turned his back to the Spartan and sighed, placing his hands on a large, wooden table with a map on it. The tent had various military-grade backpacks scattered throughout its interior. "First things first. We spoke with the leader of this rabble…calls herself Nasuada. She has a warrior with her, a redheaded woman."

Maine knew where this was going, but he kept quiet until the Captain would say it himself.

"And she did things. Things that I can only describe as magic. Can you shed some light on that?"

He replied by magically lifting the table with a single word. Captain Wren stepped backwards and crossed his arms, his eyes deep with shock and anger. "Sierra…you're taking care of a _dragon_…and now you can use magic?"

"A benefit of being bonded to her."

'_A benefit? Being able to use magic is a benefit?'_

'_Bear with me.'_

"Yes…her. I heard her voice in my head. Can you do that too?"

"It's how we communicate."

"But that would require an extensive knowledge of human speech. _Our_ human speech."

" Dragons are as intelligent as humans. When we bonded, it was done through magic. Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"Permission granted. You know more than I do at this moment."

"My guess is that they imprint on the first person they have contact with, mentally. It allows them to communicate."

"How does this mind-reading work?"

"Unknown. It gives us an advantage over our foes though."

"Can you read my mind?"

What?

'_What?'_

"Sir?"

"I don't think I need to worry about you with this, but I can't risk this. Be honest. Have you read my mind?"

He straightened his back. "No sir." He had very nearly told him that in the ancient language.

"Can you though?"

Maine extended a small probe to the Captain's mind, intent only on touching it. He felt a thick, heavy fog that seemed to serve as a front to any infiltrators, but if he concentrated enough he could break through it. The Captain had an impressive innate ability to resist mind-readers, but without training on how to utilize that, he was still vulnerable. "Sir. Theoretically, sir."

Wren nodded. "Good. The fight with the Empire's army is only a day away at most and we have to prepare. Elves?"

"Sir?"

"Your companion. She was not human."

"No sir."

"Was she an elf?"

"Yes sir."

"And what was her business with you?"

"Sir. Aeraleth and I accompanied the elven ambassador to the forest in the North, where a teacher taught me how to use magic."

The Captain did not seem to like that. "An elf served as your teacher? Please tell me you did discovered humor somewhere on your journey."

"No sir. Without intervention, I would have done more harm than good with magic."

"So you were taught control. I see. And her? Was she your teacher?"

"No sir. She's…an associate, sir."

'_I thought you viewed her as a friend?'_

'_The Captain does not appreciate any closeness to other races.'_

'_Why not? He did not make a problem of us being bonded, did he?'_

'_Yes he did. He is not vocal about it.'_

'_Ah, so your leader is as sly as an elf?'_

'_Do not mention that to him. I don't think he will react positively.'_

'_I have no intention of contacting his mind again.'_

"An associate? What does that mean?"

"She's an ally. The ambassador of the elves is here, if you want to know more about them, sir."

That was a shot in the right direction. "Yes, I think I will. At ease, Spartan. You're dismissed."

Maine saluted the man and hoped that Arya's skills in her field of work were enough to allow her to adapt to the UNSC Captain. Things might turn ugly if they didn't.

'_Will you seek me out now? We are waiting.'_

'_Coming.´_

It did not take him longer than a few minutes to make his way to the other side of the camp, where both Aeraleth and Daenlith were positioned against a small rock outcropping. Aeraleth had her tail wrapped around the rocky protrusion and Daenlith was sitting on top of it, watching over the encampment of Varden forces.

Aeraleth nuzzled him affectionately with her snout and he gently patted her. Daenlith's acknowledged him with a curt nod, but returned her focus to the camp afterwards.

"That was my commanding officer," he remarked. "He and his soldiers will help us in this fight."

'_I do wonder what good a dozen men will do in a fight of thousands.'_

'_With our weapons, a lot.'_

The elf did not reply. She was still staring at the Varden camp, from where a familiar figure was approaching them now. Maine thought he had a pretty solid idea who it was, seeing as he was the one who had invited her. There was one problem though…he had not thought about what would happen if he actually introduced Daenlith and Raia together. Elves hated Shades and vice versa. This might be problematic.

"Wait…" muttered Daenlith, who was getting to her feet in the process.

'_Aeraleth, get ready to restrict her movements as soon as she moves.'_

'_Whose? The mean Shade or the bloodthirsty elf?'_

'_Whichever is the first to move.'_

'_Got it.'_

"Daenlith," he carefully said, "she's a friend."

Raia stopped when she was within ten meters distance. She was wearing black robes with a hood draped over her head, reminiscent of an eastern style of dressing. Nobody would be capable of recognizing her for what she was…nobody human at least. Elves had the annoying habit of doing things that they should not be doing at all.

"Who is that?" asked the elf. Aeraleth stirred, but she did not yet move.

Raia took the reaction of the elf at heart, as she was now approaching them very slowly and carefully. The Shade had her arms by her side, but Maine knew that she was ready for conflict.

"Our ally," he replied. "She's here to help." What was riling Daenlith up like that? It wasn't like anyone could recognize Raia for what she was?

"You have some questionable allies, Spartan," commented the Shade. She dropped her hood when she was within a few meters range and ran a hand through her short, crimson hair.

And then all hell broke loose. As soon as she spotted the Shade, Daenlith jumped to her feet and drew her sword. Raia, not being outdone by the aggression of one elf, immediately grabbed her own sword and closed the distance. Maine resisted the facepalm and reached for Daenlith's arm, intent on stopping her without ripping her arm off. Aeraleth pounced like a cat and raked Raia with one of her claws, pinning the redhead to the ground by her legs.

"Raia, meet Daenlith. Daenlith, this is Raia. She's a friend."

The elf tried to free herself from the Spartan's grip, failed to do so and then calmed down. Then she looked over her shoulder and gave him a furious glare. "Let go," she calmly said, yet her eyes were burning with anger and fury. Maine, knowing just how pissed off elves got when they were touched by others, reluctantly released her.

Raia too was not very amused. She was thrashing round under Aeraleth's grip, but she did not dare attempt to harm the dragon.

"A Shade, Spartan? You allied yourself with a Shade?" growled Daenlith.

"What are you doing here with an _elf_? Those pointy-eared morons are supposed to be cowering in their forest!" cried Raia.

'_Why are they blaming me?'_ He asked Aeraleth, whose mind felt more amused than shocked at this ridiculous display of violence.

'_That is because you invited them here.'_

"I'll show you cowering," Daenlith snapped and nearly darted off again. Maine barely succeeded in wrapping an arm around her throat before she could escape him.

"Enough," he barked. "Both of you stand down!"

"Did you forget what that wretched Durza did to Arya? They are monsters, all of them!"

"Oh, we are the monsters?" sneered Raia. "Your kind didn't do a damn thing to fight the king all these years! _I _helped Eragon with his back. _I _gathered valuable information on the Empire. _I _protected Nasuada while you sat back and watched!"

Aeraleth growled and slammed her tail into the ground, producing a thunderous shock through the ground. '_Are you two trying to destroy our war-efforts? You sound like children freshly hatched! You can either choose to accept each other NOW, or you will be crushed underneath our heel.' _Aeraleth was on fire today.

"You overestimate yourself, dragon," Raia softly muttered, but Aeraleth would not have any of that.

'_Try me,'_ she hissed at the Shade as she increased the pressure on her body.

"She's right. The Empire is our enemy. Daenlith, Raia helped protect Nasuada, partially healed Eragon and helped me save Aeraleth's life. And Raia? Daenlith accompanied me when all elves spurned me, practiced with me and was one of the few elves who were ready to take the fight to Galbatorix. You're both outcasts and you will both learn how to deal with each other." And that was the moment where the health of his throat dropped to zero. He released the elf in his arms at the same time as Aeraleth removed her claw from the Shade.

The two women crept to their feet and offered their respective capturer a very dirty stare. Raia then crossed her arms, huffed and turned away, while Daenlith decided to stare at the ground with a red blush on her pale skin.

The silence lasted for over a minute and Maine was very thankful that a large shape flew overhead, casting a shadow on the ground.

"That's Eragon," he stated. "About time. We're moving out."

'_You did well,'_ Aeraleth told him as he started making his way back to the Varden camp. '_That might have gotten violent had you not reacted like that.'_

'_You plucked a Shade out of the air and threatened the only two individuals beside the King who could pose a threat to you. I'm impressed.'_

She bumped into his back with her snout and nearly sent him stumbling. '_Thank you.´_

´_Where did you leave our gear?'_

'_Daenlith removed them when you were talking with the Wren. It is waiting for you by his tent.'_

'_Affirmative.'_

By the time he had verified his equipment and checked to see if the tent was still guarded –it was, this time by two different marines- Maine made his way to the large, white pavilion where Nasuada would be waiting for him. As it turned out, there was a very formal meeting going on between her, Arya, Wren and Eragon. There were various nobles there who were very eager to meet both a Rider as someone from the stars, which meant that Maine didn't need to do anything except stand in the corner with his arms clasped behind his back. He had arrived later than the rest, which meant that he had missed out on a great deal. Aeraleth was currently reminiscing with Saphira and both Daenlith as Raia had chosen to spend the remainder of their time somewhere else.

Eragon in particular was very interested by the mannerisms of Wren and the two soldiers that were standing by his side. One was the Specialist, the other one was a sharp-looking Second Lieutenant, who had offered Maine a surprised yet pleased look when he had entered the tent.

"-and I stand as ambassador for my people," explained Arya. "Spartan aside, I believe this is the first official meeting of your people and the people of the Varden."

"Indeed it is," replied Wren. The two Marines chose to stay at the back, catching weird looks from the various noblemen and –women. "I have to admit that we are…unaccustomed to different races in peace-time. This is the very first time we have ever seen your race, although that does not make this encounter any less jubilant."

"I agree. To us, the thought of meeting individuals from beyond the stars is unheard of, especially when those visitors are so similar to those we know of."

Maine was interested in seeing how Wren would handle the elven princess. He had had a _very _hard time even interacting with her, but he was no politician. He also wasn't a trained manipulative liar.

"Alas, however intriguing the possibilities of this meeting are to all of us, I believe they will have to wait until after this fight. Until we can call for reinforcements from our ship, we are stuck with fighting a lopsided engagement."

"The nature of the coming fight will have to wait until all of our commanders can attend, Captain," commented Nasuada.

"Barely. My people have dealt with onslaughts of this scale many times before, my lady. Our weaponry might be limited in quantity, but I assure you that they do _not _lack in quality. "

"More suggestions scattered over time is better than a few at one given moment," Jörmundur told them. "As such, there is one matter we need to discuss right now."

As the noblemen and –women left, Eragon and Arya exchanged a few glances that looked very meaningful. What had transpired since the last time he had seen them? Was Arya not the one who was scared by the idea of being together with Eragon? If so, why did she look so comforted by his presence? Elves were an enigma."

"The matter of the Riders," said Nasuada. Everyone turned to look at either Eragon or Maine. "Our greatest assets. How would you two fight in this battle? What would be your ideal fighting method?"

Maine saw that Wren was paying keen attention to him. The man was obviously unamused by the fact that _he _was being given the chance to speak for himself, but he remained silent. Strange

"I would follow Captain Wren's command, ma'am," he said. "But using magic, Aeraleth and I could find and eliminate key enemy personnel to disrupt morality. Failing that, I can destroy the tactical positions with magic."

"Very well. Eragon?"

The boy remained silent longer than Maine did, but his idea was ultimately the same. "Yes…Saphira and I can seek out and kill enemy magicians, as they pose the biggest threat. I shall take control of Du Vrangr Gata, as we stand a better chance united."

"Agreed. "

"But first I would visit Elva. I don't want her to suffer any longer than is necessary. Where is she?"

…who was Elva again?

Nasuada frowned. "A bout of illness overcame her just a day or so ago, roughly at the same time as when our new UNSC allies showed up. I suspect she will be better now; Angela has been attending to her."

"After I have fulfilled my duty, I'll meet with Trainna."

"You may leave now, if you wish. We shall continue to discuss the matters at hand. Spartan? Is there anything you need-"

"Ammo," he cut her off, looking at the Captain. "Lots of it."

Was he imagining it, or did the Second Lieutenant look amused?

"We'll take care of it," Wren dryly remarked. "As you were."

He saluted and took his notion to leave. There was something very wrong with how Wren treated him. The man seemed upset about something…but what? Had he done something wrong? Could the Captain not fathom what he had gotten himself into? It was actually quite simple; Forerunner robots had forced them to crash on a world inhabited by elves, dragons and dwarves, where things like magic was normal and words like 'stars' made people with pointy ears lose their shit.

…on the other hand, he could imagine why Wren might be upset. Though he had still been rather elegant in the situation, the Captain was still forced to waste supplies and possibly lives in a war that was not his war. The actual reason for him readying the marines for combat was beyond Maine though.

He shouldn't be thinking about that. He had more important things to do than questioning his commanding Officer, such as figuring out how to deal with the army of forty-thousand strong. That was a large amount of enemy soldiers, but he had faced worse odds.

Maine made his way to the front of the camp, from where he could hit the magnification on his visor and take a look at the enemy army. How was the Varden, a mere four-thousand men large, going to deal with this? They were outnumbered ten to one…without the dwarves or the elves, there would be no victory. They had no access to other forms of reinforcements and without the Pelican dropship, they were going to have to do it the hard way.

'_If you could breathe fire, we could end this easily,'_ he told Aeraleth.

'_And if you possessed limitless weaponry, you too could end this easily. It is as it is and there is no need for wishing. That is unlike you.'_

'_You're right.'_

He racked his mind for an easy solution; for a way to harness incredible amounts of energy without killing himself. If he could only set off a large enough explosion in the midst of the approaching troops, he could kill enough to make a difference. Only…he could not remember how to do so.

Frowning, he reviewed what he had learned the past weeks. He couldn't remember what he wanted to do; it was right there, but…he couldn't grasp it. It was like he was trying to recall a dream that was constantly slipping away.

He couldn't remember it.

'_What now?'_ he asked his partner, feeling a very nasty sensation in his abdomen that he hadn't felt in a long time. '_What do we do now?'_

'_Now we wait. And when the time has arrived, they will all die.'_

He sat back against Aeraleth's thigh and lowered his head. He hadn't caught much sleep last night and somehow, he felt like he had lost something precious just now. Why had he not remembered? How close had he been to figuring out a way to prevent this conflict from costing the lives of the people he had grown to care about? He knew that Aeraleth would be with him the whole time, but…Daenlith and Raia were on their own. The Shade had it even easier than the elf, as she could only be killed by a thrust through the heart. Daenlith had decades of experience, but even the most experienced warrior could slip up and die. The same thing went for Arya and Eragon.

Sensing his distress, Aeraleth sighed and placed her head on the ground. '_Peace, Maine. Your friends can take care of their own. It is unlike you to worry about combat like this. What truly ails you?'_

'_I couldn't remember. No matter what it was, I knew it was there and I couldn't remember. That's a sign of mental degradation. Do you think it has something to do with my…episodes?'_

Aeraleth was silent for a long while. When she finally answered, she sounded hesitant. '_I know not. You have been changing ever since the day I hatched…though change is not always positive.'_

'_So?'_

'_When you truly start to fall, I will hold on to you. And I won't drop you.'_

Maine felt a vague warmness in his chest and again, he was at a loss for words. Throughout everything they had been through together, Aeraleth was always there when he needed her. Even though he was not even competent enough to help her when she was unsure about her life, she would always support him. In fact, she was more trustworthy than Captain Wren and his crew. Where did he truly belong now? With the UNSC that now longer needed him?

He remained like that for easily an hour, resting against his dragon while the sun slowly descended. Just when it was about to set, he sensed someone approaching him. He jumped to his feet and quickly verified if it was a hostile.

It was a simple runner. He told Maine that he should go to Nasuada at once and that he should hurry. Maine, thinking that the fight was about to commence, wasted no time in making his way to the leader of the Varden. He navigated past the various grey tents and, alongside Aeraleth, ran towards the Command structure.

When he entered the pavilion, Eragon was already there. Jörmundur and half a dozen guards drew their swords at the intruders, but lowered them when Nasuada told Maine to join her. Captain Wren was there too, with only the Specialist there as his guard. They did not react with violence upon seeing the Spartan, as they were accustomed to seeing him pop up at random.

"What's the situation?" He asked her as the adrenaline slowly left his system. Each and every time someone around him showed hostile intent, he felt his body automatically readying itself for a fight.

"Our scouts report that a company of some hundred Kull approach from the northeast."

That was unexpected. Still, he knew what had to be done. And Eragon probably thought the same thing.

"I shall eliminate them, if that is your wish. Saphira and I can handle them by ourselves," he said.

Nasuada looked at Eragon carefully when she gave her reply. "We can't do that, Eragon. They're flying a white flag and they have asked to talk with me."

That was even more unexpected. "A trap," said the Spartan. "They'll try to murder you."

"Surely you don't intent to grant them an audience?" demanded Eragon.

"I will offer them the same courtesies I would to any foe that arrives under the banner of truce."

Maine thought up three different scenarios how that meeting could go. If they allowed one of them to enter and kept their eyes on it, Nasuada could talk to it. If she allowed more to enter, a battle would break out. If she allowed one of them to enter and remained unguarded, she would die. The only way for this to work was for him or Eragon to keep watch over her and the Kull.

"But they're brutes. Monsters! You can't negotiate with them. I have seen the crimes they commit. They relish in pain and suffering. Just give the word everyone around you would be more than willing to kill these creatures for you!"

The Kull were with a hundred. Either they were here for negotiations, or they were so thick that they thought to attack a superior force in a well-defended position. Maine did not know which one was the case.

"In this I agree with Eragon. If you won't listen to us, at least listen to him."

"You all forget that I have fought in Farthen Dûr, the same as you, and that I saw the savagery of the Urgals as well. However, I also saw our own men commit acts just as heinous."

Actually, she just served as an archer in the lines behind the main forces, with no threat at all. "They almost killed your father," Maine softly told her.

"I remember this, Spartan. But he lives...and I shall not ignore potential allies when we are so greatly outnumbered.

"It is too dangerous Nasuada! Kull are stronger than elves –if their envoy would were to attack you in close quarters, nobody could save you. I can't be fast enough to-"

"I could do it," Maine interrupted. He had fought enemies stronger and faster than the Kull before. The Captain allowed himself a very brief smile that looked smug, before his face resumed its normal, blank features.

"What?"

"When the Kull envoy attacks, I can quarantine it."

"Spartan, we appreciate the gesture, but this is a _Kull_ we are talking about. They can rip armoured humans clean in half-"

"With all due respect, but I seriously doubt anything is a match for a Spartan. He can dodge bullets which, I remind you, go many times faster than crossbow bolts. Lady Nasuada will be in no harm when he is there."

That basically settled it for the rest of the guards, who all alternated between appearing comforted and disturbed. In the end, the guards tied the front and side panels of the pavilion open for all to see at Nasuada's behest. Saphira and Aeraleth crouched down next to it and Nasuada seated herself in her high-backed chair. Jörmundur, Wren, the Specialist and other commanders arranged themselves in two parallel rows so that anyone who sought an audience with Nasuada had to walk between them.

Eragon took his position a few meters away from Nasuada, while Maine settled for standing a meter to her right. He allowed his arms to hang calmly alongside his sides, giving an easy appearance. Curiously enough, a small child walked up to their formation and nobody batted an eye. She looked like she was a year or eight old, with medium-length, white hair and large purple eyes. She wore a small, black dress and she had a very cynical expression on her face.

'_Aeraleth, who –'_

'_It is Elva, the one cursed and blessed by Eragon. Saphira told me that she possesses the capacity to feel the pain of others, to the point that even time itself cannot escape her gaze.'_

'_She sees in the future?'_

'_Half an hour at most. Do not worry; her intelligence is that of an adult. She serves as Nasuada's protector as much as you do.'_

'_As long as she stays away from me, we're fine.'_

The girl walked past him –undisturbed by the curious gaze of the Specialist- and gazed up at his visor. Maine looked down at her and saw that she did not look very good. She was shivering, her eyes were big and fearful and her legs were threatening to give away underneath her body. That was pretty much the standard reaction of people to Spartans; where was her adult intelligence then? What purpose did she serve here?

"Are you better, Elva?" asked Nasuada.

The girl nodded. "For now, well enough."

Her voice sounded older than it should have –more like a teen than a child's. The strange kid took a position at Nasuada's left side, signaling a great importance. What was the thing about her again? A failed blessing? It did not matter for now.

Barely five minutes later, a roar of anger erupted from the eastern edge of the camp. A storm of unprofessional insults and shouts grew louder and louder until, as Maine had predicted, a single Kull entered their view. He was walking towards Nasuada while a mob of soldiers peppered him with taunts. The urgal held his head high and bared his yellow fangs, seemingly oblivious to the abuse directed at him. He looked much like a Brute in physiology, standing eight and a half feet tall with grotesque features and a thick skin. This thing was less stocky and more humanoid though. IT also had thick horns that spiraled all the way around like a type of goat. His only clothing was around his groin, with a few plates of crude armor held together with scarps of mail over his shoulders and a curved metal desk between his two horns.

Maine saw that Eragon stiffened and silently disapproved. The boy had to learn how to control his emotions. This was a diplomatic meeting after all. The Kull was either here as a trap, or on a very honest mission. They would soon find out which one it was. Its mind was strongly shielded, though Maine had no doubts that he could crush its defenses had he really tried.

When the urgal stopped before the front of the pavilion, hesitating to come any closer, Nasuada had her guards shout for quiet to settle the crowd. Everyone was looking at the urgal now, probably wondering what it wanted and what it would do.

It lifted its arms towards the sky, inhaled and then bellowed at Nasuada. In an instant, the guards aimed their swords at the Kull and even Wren pulled out his sidearm to take aim. But the creature paid them no attention and continued screaming until its lungs were empty again. At least Brutes knew when to shut up…

The Kull then looked at Nasuada, ignoring the hundreds of people that were obviously hostile to it, and started speaking in a thick, guttural accent. "What treachery is this, Lady Nightstalker? I was promised safe passage. Do humans break their word so easily?"

This thing had yet to meet ONI. Their words literally meant nothing.

Nasuada said: "The Varden are not liars like Galbatorix and the Empire. Speak your mind; you need fear no danger while we hold council under the conditions of truce.

The urgal grunted and raised his bony chin higher, baring his throat. Oromis had asked Maine to read up on the urgal culture, but he had refused to do so. As such, he had no idea what this specimen was doing with its nonverbal language. "I am Nar Garzhvog of the Bolvek tribe. I speak for my people." It seemed as if he chewed on every word instead of simply hesitating. "Urgals are hated more than any other race. Elves, dwarves and humans all hunt us and drive us from our halls."

'_Now why would that be,'_ Maine pointed out to Aeraleth.

"Not without reason," pointed out Nasuada.

Garzhvog nodded. `Not without reason. Our people love war."

Maine bristled. For that remark alone, he felt the desire to rip its head off its body. They loved war? How about the thousands of innocent people that died during such wars? The urgal-race deserved nothing bur extinction.

"Yet," the Kull continued, "how often are we attacked just because you find us as ugly as we find you? We have thrived since the fall of the Riders. Our tribes are now so large, the harsh land we live in can no longer feed us."

"So you made a pact with Galbatorix."

"Aye, Lady Nightstalker. He promised us good land if we killed his enemies. He tricked us though! His flame-haired shaman, Durza, bent the minds of our war chiefs and forced out tribes to work together, as is not our way. When we learned in the dwarves' hollow mountain, the Hermdall, the dams who rule us, sent my brood mate to Galbatorix why he used us so." He shook his large head. "She did not return."

Boo-hoo. The murderous race of killers was forced to act like sapient creatures and work together? Maine's could feel his anger increasing with every passing word.

"Our finest rams died for Galbatorix, then he abandoned us like a broken sword. He is drajl and snake-tongued and a lack-horned betrayer. Lady Nightstalker, we are fewer now, but we will fight with you if you let us."

"I see. What would you want in return then? You must have a price."

"Blood. Galbatorix's blood. And if the Empire falls. We ask that you give us land, land for breeding and growing. Land to avoid more battles in the future."

"Very well Nar Garzhvog. You and your warriors may bivouac along the eastern flank of our army, away from the main body. We shall discuss the terms of our pact."

"Aghrat ukmar," growled the Kull, clapping his fist to his brow. "You are a wise Herndall, Lady Nightstalker."

"Why do you call me that?"

"Herndall?"

"No. Nightstalker."

Garzhvog laughed gruffily. "It is the name we gave your sire because of how he hunted us in the dark tunnels under the dwarf mountain and because of the colour of his hide. As his cub, you are worthy of the same name."

That did not make any sense at all.

After that last remark, the Kull turned around and walked away. After that, Nasuada proclaimed: "Anyone who attacks the urgals shall be punished as if he attacked a fellow human. See that word of this is posted in every company."

No sooner had she finished, or Maine noticed King Orrin approaching at a quick pace, his cape flapping around him. The Specialist made a move to intercept, but then he thought better of it and stepped back.

"Nasuada! Is it true that you met with an urgal? Why wasn't I alerted sooner? I don't-"

He was interrupted as a sentry emerged from the ranks of the grey tents, shouting that a horseman from the Empire was approaching them.

_Finally,_ thought Maine, who was eager to fight. The King forgot his argument and joined Nasuada as she hurried towards the vanguard of the army, followed by at least a hundred people. Maine jumped onto Aeraleth just as Eragon mounted Saphira and together, the two Riders made their way to the front of the encampment. When the dragons halted at the ramparts, trenches and rows of sharpened poles that protected the Varden´s leading edge, Maine spotted a lone soldier riding at a furious pace across the no-man's-land.

The soldier reined in his black stallion some forty feet away from the camp, probably intent on keeping as much distance between him and the Varden as possible. "By refusing King Galbatorix's generous terms of surrender, you choose death as your fate. No more shall we negotiate. The hand of friendship has turned into a fist of war! If any of you still hold regard for your rightful sovereign, the all-powerful King Galbatorix, flee! None may stand before us once we set forth to cleanse Alagaesia! So flee, I say, or suffer the fate of your herald!"

With that, the soldier untied a canvas sack and flourished a severed head. He threw it in the air and watched as it fell among the Varden's troops, then turned his stallion and galloped back to the dark mass of Galbatorix' army.

"Permission to neutralize?" asked Maine.

Nasuada shook her head. "We will have our due soon enough. I won't violate the sanctity of envoys, even though the Empire has."

Eragon nodded. "As you-"

Saphira planted her front legs upon the bank and nearly threw her Rider off. She opened her jaws and uttered a long, deep roar, as a defiant challenge to her foes. The sudden sound scared the horse of the rider so had that it threw him off, right at the moment that a plume of fire erupted from the ground. The messenger screamed once and then it was silent.

Maine chuckled, but he was among the few who did. Nasuada eventually clapped her hands and said: "They will attack at dawn, I think. Eragon, gather Du Vrangr Gata and prepare yourself for action. Spartan, I share command over you with Captain Wren. He knows best how to employ your skills, but do not forget who you are. I will have further orders for the both of you within the hour." Then she took Orrin by the shoulder and guided him back to the center of the compound. "Sire, there are decision we must make. I have a certain plan, but it will require your help…"

Night quickly fell to the Burning Plains. The roof of smoke that covered the stars caused a profound darkness that the night alone could not cause and the thousands of torches that each army lit made the land appear like it was already under attack. Maine found himself observing a clutch of Kull, four of whom had been assigned to protect Nasuada as a sign of their newfound alliance. He did not like their presence one bit; they reminded him too much of Brutes. At first they had just been yet another violent race, but after hearing Garzhvog's explanation of their culture, he had understood that the entire urgal-race was just as bad as the Brutes. What savage, idiotic morons thought that waging war was fun? Who enjoyed causing countless of pointless deaths? No, he was _not _going to work together with the Kull. He would tolerate their presence because the Varden needed them, but nothing more. After this was over, he was going to try and stop their culture from causing more harm. If they wouldn't change, he would wipe them all out.

'_Many are going to burn tomorrow.'_ Aeraleth remarked. He did not know where she was, but she was out there somewhere. '_And you and I are going to watch them.'_

'_We've got better things to do than watching people burn. Setting them on fire, for example.'_

'_You must be careful though. I do not think your Wren appreciates your allegiance to Nasuada,'_

'_He'll have to discuss that with her then.'_

'_With the Kull around her?'_

'_They won't be a problem for him. Their skulls aren't that thick.'_

'_You would know that, wouldn't you?'_

'_You were the one who ate some of them.'_

'_They did not taste too well.´_

_´Try burning the next one you try.´_

_´I shall keep that in mind.´_

He allowed himself a small smile. He was about to enter his element…and he would do it with the person he trusted the most.


	23. Bloodbath of the Burning Plains Pt II

The first rays of dawn were already pelting the land with their bright warmth when Eragon woke up. For a brief, peaceful moment, he did not know where he was or what was going on. But then the reality of the war hit every fiber of his being and he groaned soundlessly. He knew that he would not go another day without having to face the Empire's forces and, possibly, Galbatorix himself. The looming threat of having to fight in a battle of such scale was…very unpleasant. So many lives were going to be lost today…so many needless deaths.

Yet Eragon did not fear the moment that signaled the end of so many thousands of lives. This was what he had been training for…_this_ is what his entire future had been spiraling towards. His destiny lay in the destruction of Galbatorix's reign…here on the Burning Plains, if need be. Together with Saphira he could not fail. The soldiers of the Empire had pledged themselves to the cause of tyranny and oppression. The courier had been the prime example; the Empire had executed the Varden's messenger and used his loose head to sow discord. That was the act of violence and war…and those people deserved what was coming to them. These soldiers were like animals…Eragon had seen what they could do. What they _would _do. If given the chance, the Empire soldiers would murder them all in cold blood.

Or at least, that was what Eragon kept repeating to himself. The truth was that he did not even know if he would fight of bunch of murderers, or an army of conscripts. The enemy might consist out of young men like him…had things gone differently, it might have been him on the other side.

'_Do not fret, little one,'_ Saphira told him. The blue dragoness was currently resting a few meters away from him, while he was refreshing himself and donning his armour. He had not forgotten about Spartan's tip to never sleep in his armour. '_They are the enemy. If you hesitate for even a moment, you will die.'_

'_I know you are right. Yet I cannot shake the feeling that we should not be fighting the Empire like this'_

'_Do shake it. How else would you defeat the Empire? How would you protect those you cherish without shedding your enemies' blood?'_

Eragon did not know how to reply to that. He knew that there had to be a _better _way. These soldiers had children, women and lives of their own. If the Empire truly saw the Varden as the enemy…he would be killing those he was supposed to be himself; protectors of the people.

But it _had _to be done. Even though Eragon had never claimed the life of a fellow man himself…he had seen scores of them being killed off at the hands of the Varden and Empire alike.

While he and the rest of the warriors of the Varden waited for the moment of war to come, the Commanders of the army were still busy discussing the latest movements of the enemy camp and the regulation of their own forces. Eragon had watched one of the Starborn soldiers carrying a very large weapon with a narrow point, before giving it to the Spartan, just before he had gone to sleep. They had gathered uncanny amounts of information on the enemy numbers and troop movements after that, leading him to conclude that his fellow-Rider had somehow used a weapon to gather information. Their technology was so _advanced…_it was unreal. If these people could field more warriors, the Empire would not stand a chance. They might even get cities to surrender without a fight.

Eragon spotted Arya in the distance and smiled. _That _was why he was fighting. He fought the Empire because of the injustice they had wrought upon the country; the tortures, the deaths and the pain that they had inflected. He fought for justice, for the protection of those he loved and a better future. He could not afford to show mercy to his foes, because his friends would suffer for it.

Every soldier was preparing for war. He could see the various men he had gotten to know putting their armour on, grabbing their weapons and, in some rare cases, laughing with their comrades.

"We'll see who gets the most kills," laughed a young one. Eragon winced when he heard that unashamed disregard for human life. Even Spartan, the prime example of an unfazed killer, had never once bragged about the lives he had taken. It was disgusting...and Eragon hoped that the warrior in question would soon face the reality of actual warfare. Only the foolish and the thuggish behaved like that.

Thankfully, Arya chose that moment to move towards him. Seeing the elf, most soldiers chose to take a few steps backwards and, after a moment of staring, return to their stations. Their response worried Eragon; if they were supposed to work together with the elves, these soldiers would need to get their things together.

"Arya," Eragon said, getting to his feet. His heart leaped at her appearance, like it always did. The elf returned his smile and greeted him with the traditional elven greeting, which he returned. "How are you?"

"I am well, thank you."

"How are our…new friends?"

A frown played over Arya's delicate features. "They are difficult to work with. Their soldiers are very different from the humans I know…and their Captain is as cunning as my mother. Without the Ancient Language."

"Different?" asked Eragon. "How?"

Arya sighed and placed her right hand on her hip. "They are not like Spartan…but neither are they like the Varden. They appear to be human in mind…though their thoughts are very well hidden."

That surprised Eragon. "But I thought there was no magic where they came from?"

"That I do not know. But their minds are hidden behind a very thick fog,"

"Perhaps they are simply so disciplined that they can focus their thoughts even with war coming?"

"Perhaps. But how are _you_, Eragon?"

"Me?"

The elf nodded and together, the two of them walked back to his tent. "I have had many decades to become accustomed to war. Yet this is your first true battle."

Like always, Arya had guessed his biggest concern and managed to address it without placing extra pressure on him. Eragon took a deep breath and thought about how he could best reply to her. Arya had set her mind for total warfare with the Empire, no matter what happened. In her eyes, the enemy soldiers were just that; enemy soldiers. Even worse, they were a completely different race. She saw them as _human_ enemy soldiers. He could not do that. "What do you see when you look at Galbatorix's army?"

"A burden. An obstacle. Death. What ails you, Eragon?"

He swallowed, even though his throat was already dry. "The King has been forcing normal people into his army for years now. Innocent people. How do you think he has managed to gather so many men so quickly, without anyone noticing?"

"He _is_ the King, after all. How else?"

Eragon shook his head. "Conscription. I think that Galbatorix has forced over half of these men to serve him; tore them away from their families, their children, just to fight the Varden."

"That should only serve to increase your incentive to fight him, should it not?"

He smiled bitterly. "It should…but not against these men. It would be murder."

"It would be war."

"War is murder."

Arya fell silent, unable to convey a proper response to his question. How could she have disagreed with that anyway? War might have many reasons. Honour, glory, freedom…all of those could be found in a war, but if you took away the reasoning behind it all…was it not about two groups murdering each other? "Our cause is just…and I stand ready to fight whoever gets in our way. But how many of these men really wish to fight us?"

"Nasuada and Orrin think that, given enough time and casualties, the majority of that army will break apart. Their morale needs to be lowered enough for that to work."

"Let us hope," Eragon said, eyeing a familiar figure that was marching off towards the frontline of barricades, "that Lady Nasuada is right."

Arya instantly realized that he was looking at something and followed his gaze. "Is that Spartan?"

"Aye."

"What is he doing?"

He looked at his companion and smiled. "Let us find out."

It amused him that the Spartan of all people could manage to distract him with his dry antics. His peculiar way of acting was always performed without humor in mind, but seeing him casually walk to the front of their defensive lines like that, without a care in the world, was just silly to behold. Arya probably did not share his thoughts on that matter, but that was alright.

Their differences only made that which they shared more obvious.

"Whatever is he doing?" asked Arya. They had followed Spartan to the very front of their barricades, where the scouts were stationed to keep tabs on the enemy army. There, the Spartan lay down with his belly to the ground and placed his weapon to his front.

"Predator, sir," said one of the scouts. "What are you doing?"

"You won't be able to hit them from this distance, Rider," said an older soldier.

"When in war, keep your Officers near the back," remarked the Spartan. Before Arya and Eragon could do more than share a bemused expression together, two very loud cracks of thunder went off and scared every soldier in the vicinity. Eragon heard many exclamations of fear and shock and even more that declared that the Empire was attacking, but he saw what had happened. Spartan had simply discharged his weapon, which had created two loud "BANG!'S".

The two soldier stationed the closest to the armoured Rider jumped up, placed their hands to their heads and fell down again.

Spartan said something, but Eragon could not hear what. He had also placed his hands to his ears, which were ringing with the after-effects of the sonic explosions. Arya's face was contorted into a grimace as she rubbed her pointed ears. Elf ears, Eragon had found out, were more sensitive than human ones. Loud noises could easily damage their inner workings. And, he saw, much to his annoyance, human ears were better protected. The two soldiers were already getting to their feet, while Arya and he were still suffering from the after-effects of the weapon fire.

He muttered a quick spell and the painful ringing in his ears dissipated somewhat. He didn't know just what had caused that pain in his head, so he hadn't been able to counter it effectively. And judging by the dangerous frown on Arya's face, she had also been unable to make the pain go away.

Eragon knew what that frown meant and he quickly took a step backwards.

"What was that?" demanded Arya, her voice calm but bordering on the furious.

"Why you should not wear bright costumes as leaders," replied the Spartan.

"What?"

Getting to his feet, the warrior slung his weapon to his back, where it miraculously stuck. Eragon looked at the rifle, which had been used to gather information, then at the Empire's army, where he could only just discern movement. An idea started to form itself in his mind. "Did you…did you just shoot someone important?"

Spartan sounded pretty amused. "Two."

That was right; he had heard two loud cracks. Eragon smiled; the enemy leaders were the ones responsible for the tasks in the army. They were the most seasoned soldiers and he would definitely _not _feel pity for them.

"Can you hit more?" asked Eragon, eager for a way to end the battle before it could start. If Spartan could pick off enough officers, the army's morale would lower and the ranks would break, allowing the Varden an easy victory.

"Did they not possess wards?" asked Arya. She sounded skeptical and judging by how she looked (her arms crossed over her chest, her head slightly lowered and her hips pushed to the side) she did not trust the Spartan's capacity for mayhem and destruction.

The Rider, facing Arya, pocketed a thin, cubical item and plucked a metal projectile out of it. It looked a bit like a very straight teeth, about as long as Eragon's hand. "This is an Armour-Piercing Fin Stabilized Discarding Sabot with a Liquid-Metal filled Scattering-Edge. It covers a mile in a _second_ and can punch through a meter of high-end metal alloy. The edges get methodically sheaved off, causing massive trauma to penetrated personnel. And then it keeps going. Do _you _have the energy to block one with your bare hands?"

That had to be the longest sentence that the Spartan had ever spoken and Eragon wined when he heard the sharp tone. Despite the things that he had done for her, Spartan was still very good at frustrating Arya.

"Can you find more Officers?" asked Eragon. "If we take them out now, the fight will be easier."

Spartan nodded. "Tell Nasuada that they are mobilizing."

"Mobilizing?" asked Eragon, shock running through his stomach. "The Empire?"

"Yes," Spartan replied with a calm voice. "Do you have a plan?"

Eragon nodded. "Saphira and I are going to work together with Du Vrangr Gata to take out the Empire's magicians, since they are the biggest threat. You?"

Spartan looked back at the enemy's army, which Eragon could not discern easily through the thick fog. His armour had to be incredibly advanced to allow him to see the Empire's forces like that. "I'll move to neutralize enemy leaders and thin their forces."

Normally, Eragon would have asked how Spartan was going to face an army of tens of thousands of men strong, but he had a feeling that those men wouldn't be able to hurt him anyway. So he just let it slip past him. "We'll contact Nasuada. Happy hunting."

The Spartan gave no indication that he had heard him, but Eragon could easily picture him hunting down and killing his enemies with the same glee as a child would play with a toy. Some things were incredibly complicated and impossible, like the soldier having helped Arya deal with her past. But some things remained the same, like Spartan always managing to find some way to incorporate warfare into his daily life.

Eragon made his way back to Nasuada's pavilion as fast as he could, with Arya close on his heels. He barged into the tent and found himself looking down the dark, tight hole of a rifle. He didn't have time to deal with that though, so he simply brushed the weapon aside –earning him a strange look from the man wielding it- and moved towards Nasuada.

"My lady," he said. "The Empire's army is moving towards us. What are your orders?"

Nasuada did not question him for a second, instead making her way outside to gather the forces. Jörmundur and the Starborn Captain followed her and soon, everybody was paying attention to her.

"People of the Varden," she shouted, "the time has come to fight! We are going to hold this position for as long as possible. The dwarves' army will arrive here anytime now. We are going to fight! Fight to win back our homes. Fight to guard your wives and children! Fight to overthrow Galbatorix! We will hold the line _here!_ TO ARMS!"

And then, when the soldiers all dispersed to take their positions, someone exited a large, white tent and strode straight towards her. But none of the guards, Eragon or Arya, even drew their weapons. While the Starborn warriors all trained their weapons straight at the newcomer, all other guards proceeded to straighten their backs, hold their heads high and show the necessary respect. Eragon felt his heart leap to his throat when he recognized him, but he refrained from commenting just yet. This was not his moment, but his Liegelord's.

"Nasuada," the lone man said with a familiar accent. "My daughter."

Nasuada, who had just appeared like her spine had been made out of steel and her nerves out of ice, visibly sagged upon seeing him. She swallowed. "Father…you should not be walking around like this. Not now, not with war upon us."

Ajihad was walking with a crutch made out of decorated wood, which looked like he had carved himself. His injuries had been so hexed that not even Raia or Arya had been capable of healing, just like Eragon's own scar. The allied Shade had removed the pain, but Ajihad had not been capable of moving on his own for a long time.

Until now. "I wanted to see what you had done with my own eyes."

"Why haven't you evacuated yet…" whispered Nasuada. "You should not be here."

"This place will not fall," Ajihad told her and he placed a hand on her shoulder. He still stood a head taller than her. "My child, I am so proud of you. Before anything else, you must know this."

Eragon heard two of the Starborn soldiers converse with each other and he discerned that they were confused with the reunion. Though even the most veteran soldiers were trying to keep a straight face, the Captain looked annoyed. Yet he kept silent.

"I will not leave, daughter. I will stay and help you command. I am well enough to ride."

"Then we shall ride side-by-side…but far away from the frontlines. Once our defenses start faltering, we will retreat to a prepared position and hold the line there."

Ajihad nodded, before gazing upon their allies from the stars. "Spartan's leader? I thought you were dead."

"Excuse me?" replied the Captain. "You know of us, mister…?"

"Ajihad, leader of the Varden, before my incapacitation at the hands of the urgal."

The Captain nodded, perhaps understanding. "A reunion will have to wait, I am afraid. We've got more than forty-thousand enemy soldiers knocking on our doors."

"Eragon," Nasuada sharply said, "I need you in the air. Spartan, you too. Move it!"

Eragon immediately sought out Saphira and started mounting her. In the corner of his eye he saw Spartan joining with Aeraleth to do the same. Ajihad, Nasuada and the Captain moved to a different location.

A hand tightened around his wrist and Eragon turned around to see Arya standing behind him, with a concerned expression on her face. She was biting her lower lip and the muscles in her shoulders were clenched. "Eragon…you must be careful. I do not want to lose you."

He smiled. "I have Saphira to watch over me. You must be careful yourself, Arya Svit-kona. Call for me if you are in need."

Arya shook her head. "I do not mean that. You must not let your aversion to war and death stop you today. If you hesitate, they will kill you."

"Then I will not hesitate."

Arya looked down for a moment, but then she stepped closer and placed a kiss on Eragon's forehead. "Good luck, Eragon."

The points of his ears stung with heat and he knew that Arya meant it. But he did not know how to deal with such a sudden display of emotions of her side and judging by how Arya quickly stepped backwards again, neither did she.

"Goodbye, Arya."

The Empire's army was marching straight through the Burning Plains. The UNSC Captain had predicted that the army would split up into two groups and march around the noxious fumes, but Nasuada had known that the enemy was too ruthless to try that.

"The King doesn't care for the lives of his men," she had said. "He has soldiers enough."

The Captain had been skeptical, but upon seeing the enormous army march straight across the Plains, flames and gasses shooting up everywhere, he had been forced to accept the truth.

"The King is a madman," he commented as he beheld the battlefield. "Only an idiot would tread this field."

Nasuada, the Captain and Jörmundur were watching the enemy army approach their defenses from one of the higher barricades. Eragon and Saphira stood by their side, vigilant for any attempt at magic. Despite the fact that any performance of magic would kill the caster from such distance, he now knew that whoever was commanding that army was ruthless enough to sacrifice all the lives under his command for a simple advantage.

"That is why we will let them come to us," Jörmundur said as he crossed his arms. "But once they overwhelm our defenses…it might become a rout."

"Not if you don't show them your backs," replied the Captain. He had one of those large rifles in his arms which Eragon knew could kill with ease. "Once they breach the encampment, we will fall back to the rendezvous point of the dwarves. Eragon and Sierra zero-zero-seven will harass their forces to buy us time."

"What of King Orrin?" asked Jörmundur. "When will he take the urgals to strike?"

"When we need them," replied Nasuada. "How big are the chances of us losing this camp?"

Eragon kept his gaze solemnly on the advancing army, despite the fact that he wanted to hear every single word that the three Commanders spoke. He did not know this "Wren" good enough to judge, but the man knew his tactics and strategies. Eragon had expected a more imposing and impressive man to hold the respect of Spartan, but who knew. The Captain might yet surprise him. He knew Nasuada had.

The Empire's soldiers grew closer and closer with each passing second and Eragon could see the bulk of their forces slowly appearing through the mist. He could imagine their men coughing and hackling and succumbing to the noxious fumes, dying by the dozens as the destructive gasses took their toll on their bodies. That was when Aeraleth took off and took the sky.

"Now Eragon!" cried Nasuada and Saphira took off as well. He knew that it was kill or be kill out here…and with Arya's farewell kiss firmly in his mind, he also knew that he could not fail. He saw the black form of Aeraleth sweeping through the sky and, in knowing that the Spartan would be covering him, Eragon felt a strange energy spread throughout his chest. But on the contrary to Spartan, Saphira held back from the edge of the army, where she would be too exposed to the enemy's magicians during the first phase of the attack. From his position in the sky, he saw the black Rider jump off of his dragon and launch himself towards the enemy army –from at least fifty meters in the sky.

'_Fool!'_ Saphira exclaimed in his mind. '_Did he fall? What is he doing?'_

'_I think he is taking the fight to the enemy,'_ replied Eragon. He watched as the soldier pinned his arms to his side and plummeted into the Empire's ranks, crushing several soldiers with sheer weight and force.

Eragon took a deep breath and started searching for enemy magicians with his mind, firing arrows with his new elven bow all the while. The Empire's army had lost at least a thousand men to the dangerous fumes and fires of the Burning Plains, but there were many more thousands to take their place. The vanguard of the Empire's army was colliding with the main framework of the Varden's defenses with a deafening roar. Their pikes clashed against the spears of the Varden's first lines and for a moment, the soldiers came to a standstill against the defenses.

Du Vrangr Gata found the first enemy spellcaster. The instant he was alerted, Eragon reached out to the woman who made the discovery and from there, to the foe she grappled with. Battles made by the mind were not limited by distance and thus, Eragon easily demolished the magician's resistance and took control over his consciousness. He did his best to ignore the man's terror at his intrusion and ordered Saphira to come closer with a different jolt of his mind. With that distance closed in, Eragon used a spell to kill the man. He ignored the sudden tear at his heart as well as the small drain in energy and used several other spells to kill half a dozen men that were slowly trying to climb the wooden defenses. The ease with which the soldiers fell disgusted him, even though he could have killed them all with the sword with the same ease.

Underneath him, the Spartan was a flurry of movement. Every second one of his armoured limbs shot out and took a life, be it with blunt force or with his knife. He had created a large circle around him, easily four meters in diameter, in which he killed everything that approached him. At least a hundred soldiers were busy trying to surround him, while another hundred soldiers were too hesitant to approach him. He had created a serious chokehold, forcing the other soldiers to march around him and disrupt the flow of their forces. There were dozens of bodies scattered already around him, some with missing helmets and some with dented, malformed armour. Eragon could picture Spartan's method with vivid clarity. All it took to kill those soldiers was a punch clean through the chest, a strike to shatter the skull or a kick to pulverize the internal organs. Spartan was capable of inflecting all that with ease.

'_He survived a fifty-meter fall?'_ Saphira asked as she relocated to the river, to flank the enemy troops.

'_Nothing can kill him,'_ replied Eragon, a thrilled sensation spreading through his stomach. '_With him, the Empire doesn't stand a chance!'_

'_That has been said of enemies before. Do not let the advantages in our war get to you.'_

'_Saphira, we have two Riders, two dragons, an army of Kull, two elven warriors and a Shade fighting on our side! And Spartan's allies are down there too, can't you hear their weapons?'_

Saphira was silent for a few seconds. '_You really look up to Spartan, do you not?'_

'_Just like our appearance rallies the soldiers, his appearance gives me hope. I cannot properly convey it…at least not in words. '_

'_You need not use words, Eragon. I feel what you feel and I agree…seeing him wade through many dozens of humans makes him look like a dragon in human form. But do not let your guard down; the King must have something planned for this.'_

'_I know that.'_

Eragon gave one last look at the lone Spartan, who was cutting down dozens of soldiers in the span of seconds with a combination of martial arts and bladed weapons he tore from their grips. A few times, it looked like a few of them simply died of sheer terror, but Eragon knew that Spartan had to be using magic. He had a completely seamless transition between his combat-moves and his magic and Eragon found it hard to tear his gaze off of him. Only when he felt the mind of another magician did he resume the fight. He brought the full force of his will to bear and tore the man's defenses apart. Then, he forcefully tore the connection between his head and his spine, ending his life.

He kept his attention focused on the walls of the encampment, where the tides of enemy soldiers were slowly pressing the soldiers back. The rest of the Empire's army was coming into view and Eragon felt a moment of despair when he saw them from Saphira's back. A _mile_ worth of soldiers was steadily approaching the Varden's men and more and more were coming through the veil of smoke. For the next fifteen minutes, Eragon hunted down and killed the enemy magicians that were attacking the Varden and Du Vrangr Gata. He saw Arya and Daenlith fighting side-by-side to dispatch every soldier that was pouring into the Varden's camp through the half a dozen holes that had been created. They were even more skilled than e

He saw a hooded figure cutting a bloody path through the Empire's soldiers at the frontlines, darting past the slowly retreating defenders and slaying many troops that there trying to outflank them. Eragon recognized her mind that of Raia. But her mind, which he had never felt before, felt as different from Durza as Saphira's mind did. There was one distinct consciousness in Raia's head and no more, which was the opposite of Durza's mind, where the spirits had been roaming for control. Her mind felt surprisingly human, though twisted and different.

And it was so incredibly well-guarded that Eragon quickly retreated. If an elf's mind was dangerous for a human, a Shade's mind had to be completely lethal.

Eragon watched as the Varden was slowly getting pressed back. For all their defenders, they could not hold the encampment. The dead bodies of the Empire's soldiers were slowly piling up and granting the rest of the soldiers more and more places where they could simply pour over the many fences, trenches and frameworks. Man after man fell and eventually, the enormous Empire army had fielded their troops in such a way that they had gained the possibility to rout the Varden from all around the encampment. The air was filled with screams of the fighting and dying and the noises of metal against metal. Above it all, the rhythmic clattering of the Starborn's weapons was the most audible sound of war. There were nine of their warriors, two female and seven males. Eragon could see that they had split up into several groups, taking the fight to the Empire directly. One such group was one of the few warriors left inside of the encampment even as the Varden fell back. Three soldiers against a tide of Empire soldiers and even then they managed to hold them off with ease. Just like with the rest of the Captain's men, they frightened Galbatorix's men to such a degree that only a few tried to attack, only to get mercilessly cut down in the process. Not a single Empire soldier even got close to them.

Eragon saw Orrin's cavalry and the Kull charge the Empire's troops, who were too preoccupied with the main bulk of the defenders. The hundreds of horses and urgals clashed with the side of the army and pinned them at the river, buying the main group of the Varden's soldiers the time they needed to create a proper retreat. Eragon then spotted Ajihad and Nasuada riding together, issuing orders to the troops to create an organized retreat. The Varden had built two camps; this one was overrun and now they would fall back to the second one. There, they would hold out and wait for the dwarves. He saw that a group of soldiers was about to reach the two leaders, for their flank was about to be overwhelmed.

He brought Saphira around and landed in-between Nasuada and the attacking soldiers, before using magic to kill them. Despite his new powers, the drain was still noticeable. But he preferred to use magic above his sword, for that felt less personal.

"Eragon," gasped Nasuada. "I need both of you to fight. To show yourselves and embolden the men…to frighten the Empire."

"My lady, you need a safe escort back to the second camp," replied Eragon.

"No Eragon," said Ajihad. "We need two Riders! Join Spartan and teach these soldiers what fear is!"

"You have my sword," he replied.

Eragon was too high on Saphira's back to strike his enemies below, so he dismounted and positioned herself by her right paw. There was a large group of soldiers circling around the wooden camp in an attempt to flank the remaining defenders, to cut off their way of retreat. Orik and Nar Garzhvog were amongst the warriors that were trying to fend the Empire's soldiers off and Eragon took his position by their side.

Because of his distrust towards the urgals, Nasuada had allowed him to search their minds for any treachery before the battle. He had found nothing but aspects of their culture, experience and knowledge. He had been forced, grudgingly so, to admit that the urgals were not mindless beasts. But because of that, he trusted Garzhvog to aid him in battle.

"Protect Saphira's left side," he told them.

"You will be overrun, Firesword," commented the Kull.

"No," said Eragon, "I won't. Now take your place." Together with his bonded partner, he charged towards the enemy's lines. The metallic scent of blood clogged the air and curtains of smoke wafted over from the Burning Plains, where more soldiers were coming from. From the minds of those around them, Eragon caught glimpses of how Saphira appeared. She was always noticed first, like a great, ravening creature that slew all in her path with swipes of her paws and flowing waves of flames. Her brilliant scales glittered and reflected the sunlight, adding to the chaos that was this battlefield.

An hour went by and Eragon accumulated multiple injuries. It was gut-wrenching to fight his own kind. Each time he looked into the face of a frightened soldier -each time he stabbed or slashed a man to death, he felt his heart tear. Yet he did not stop. Every soldier he met died and two times, he and Saphira hacked their way to the front of the Burning Plains, before retreating to prevent the enemy from surrounding them. Quick as his reflexes were, they were not yet accustomed to a fight of this scale. In individual fights he _always_ stood his ground, yet he had not trained to look around him and keep an eye on his surroundings, leading to several wounds as his wards started to falter. Arrows impacted on his hauberk, creating large bruises and knocking the air out of him.

Even though his strength was great, the demands of battle were greater. Still the two of them pressed onwards.

* * *

Staff Sergeant Bryce heard the soldier approaching him before he saw him. It was a ridiculous war-scream and he had all the time he needed to turn around and see an armoured man sprinting towards him with a spear at the ready

Hudson and Browning were too busy shooting bad guys to notice the bag guy they needed to shoot, so the Sergeant took it upon him to take care of the bad guy without shooting. He lashed out with his leg and kicked the spear out of the soldier's hands, before punching him straight in his face and downing him.

"Why do we need to deal with this crap?" Hudson cried as Bryce broke the soldier's neck with his knee. "We're shooting humans with our spare ammo."

"What else do you want to shoot? There ain't no covvies around!" Bryce shouted back.

"Man, this is some bull," Lance Corporal Browning cursed as two sword-wielding men charged at him. He shot the first in the head, ducked underneath an overhanded blow and snapped the second's neck from behind. "There are two dragons raging around on the battlefield, elves are jumping back and forth and casting fireballs and our Spartan is nowhere to be found!"

"Can it Corporal. Hudson, watch your six!" Bryce shouted as seven more soldiers came charging at their position. When the battle had started, all nine of them had been pouring down a massive amount of headshots. But even with sixty times nine kills in the first few minutes, there were simply too many enemy soldiers that could take their places. In the end, the Captain had ordered them to split up into three Fireteams to cover the main army's retreat. Why Wren would risk all their asses to assist some strange group of people that were rebelling against the government was beyond them. The only reason why Bryce didn't think shooting these Empire soldiers was a waste of bullets was because they had drawn first blood. They had attacked their dropship and started this entire mess. The Spartan and his big lizard-friend were not important at the moment.

Hudson spun around and, picking up the fallen spear, thrust at the nearest soldier. The spear cut through the buttered mail and split the rings, killing the soldier. Browning immediately pulled out his combat knife and assumed a martial position, while Bryce simply cursed and picked up a nearby sword. With a short battle-cry, the six remaining soldiers threw themselves at the trio of UNSC soldiers –and got promptly cut apart for it. Hudson avoided a strike, bashed a soldier with his knee and then jammed his own knife into the exposed neck. Browning blocked one strike, slashed across his opponent's throat and kicked at the face of another soldier, breaking his nose. Bryce, by no means an expert with a sword, blocked the attacks of two attacking soldiers in quick succession, stabbed one through the chainmail and promptly lost his sword when it got stuck on the bone. So he head-butted the other Imperial soldier, broke his wrist and stole his sword.

Several moments later, when the last opponent fell to the ground with a deep gash in the neck, Browning threw a stolen spear to the ground in disgust. "Why are humans still easier to kill than split-lips?"

"I know man. It's not fair," replied Hudson.

"We need to link up with the Captain," Bryce called out. "Browning, get on the comm and find out what is going on." He aimed his rifle and shot a soldier that had been about to aim a bow at them. "Hudson, find us a way to link up with the Varden's main force. This place is overrun."

Sure enough, a new wave of soldiers overran the last of the defenders and poured into the Varden's camp. Bryce could still hear the clattering of automatic weapon fire in the distance and from that, he gathered that the rest of their group had to be active somewhere else.

"Let 'em have it!" Browning cried as he brandished a grenade. But before he could throw it; before even Hudson or Bryce could engage the wave of a hundred men, a dark shadow swept over their heads and something _massive _crashed into the enemies' ranks. The Staff Sergeant saw that it was in fact a giant dragon, dark as the night and with talons that were covered in blood. It landed only briefly, crushing a dozen men with a single strike, before taking off with nearly the same speed with which it had come.

"That was a dragon," commented Browning. "That was _his_ dragon."

"Imagine if we could strap weapons to that thing," replied Hudson. "We could rename the Longsword."

The three of them laid down a thunderous suppressing fire, utilizing their advanced assault rifles to completely stop the advance of the enemy soldiers dead in its tricks. But Bryce had to reload and he noticed that he only had two clips remaining. He must have shot at least a hundred men in the ninety minutes that the battle had been going on, but every life he claimed got replaced with two new soldiers. It was like the Human-Covenant war all over again, with thousands of Grunts coming to sweep through their minefields and deplete their ammo stacks. But the Varden had thousands of soldiers as well and preserving them to hold against the rest of the Empire soldiers was how they were going to win this.

"Corporals, we're falling back," he barked.

"But Sarge, wait-"

"Don't screw with me Hudson, do it!"

"Sarge! There's someone out there!"

"There's a crapload of someones out there, Huds!" yelled Browning as he shot three charging soldiers before his clip ran out. He then bashed one soldier in the face with the butt of his rifle and kicked another one in the chest, pushing him away. An arrow impacted on his chest, but his BDU stopped it. "Shit!"

"It's not a soldier. I can't-"

Something exploded in-between them and a giant hammer smashed into Bryce's side, throwing him half a dozen yards across the dry ground. His ears were ringing and all the breath had been knocked out of his chest, leaving him gasping for air as he tried to get back up. Blood dripped down from his arms and he was only vaguely aware of the fact that the soldiers around him were backing off. Had someone bombed them? Where were Hudson…and Browning?

And then his head exploded in a sudden headache. Something…_alien_ wormed its way inside of his thoughts and constricted his mind, penetrating its way into the center of his consciousness. The Staff Sergeant vaguely remembered something about mental warfare and sluggishly tried to concentrate on an image of his wife, back on Earth. The pressure on his mind lifted, but not completely. He got to his feet and looked around, trying to spot whatever needed shooting. The mere motion of getting up distracted him though, and the result was immediate. The hostile probe in his mind increased again and he gritted his teeth as pain racked his body. Hudson and Browning were both on their feet and…_something_ was fighting them. Through blurry eyes, Bryce could see that the new hostile had long, red hair and black, leather clothes.

His rifle lay somewhere in the dirt and he was in too much pain to get down and grab it. So he pulled his sidearm out of its holster and –with trembling hands- aimed it at the back of the redheaded enemy, who was beating the shit out of Hudson and Browning. But before he could pull the trigger and send a round downrange to kill that SOB, his weapon was yanked out of his grip and he stumbled forwards.

"Still alive?" a feminine voice sneered as he tried to regain his footing. Someone grabbed him by his throat and lifted him in the air, choking the life out of him. He kicked with his feet and instantly reached for the hands of whoever was holding him, intent on crushing the fingers. But the long, slender appendages that were wrapped around his throat were like iron! He could not even pry them loose, let alone break them off. It was like an Elite had him in a vice grip.

Bryce, in no way a small man, felt his feet leave the ground as whoever was grabbing him lifted him in the air. He smashed the palm of his hand into the elbow-joint of his foe, kicked at her chest and tried to land a hit on her face. He felt his heavy boot connect with something and the relentless grip on his throat lessened somewhat, allowing him to land another few blows and get free.

His body slumped to the ground and he instinctively rolled to the side, just in time for a thin sword to miss him by mere inches. He saw a leather boot and pale skin and he heard weapons discharge close to him, causing the figure to jump backwards and disengage for a moment. After that, Browning ran up to him and grabbed him by his arm, helping him up and firing his sidearm all the while. "Come on Sarge, we ain't leaving you here! We're falling back!"

Bryce coughed and reached for his throat with one hand, while Browning pushed his rifle into his arms. "What in Sam Hill was that?" he cursed.

Hudson picked up the fallen rifle and scanned the area. The soldiers around them were advancing once more and it was time for them to get out of there. "I think that was a Shade. Like the lady in the castle. Sir, orders?"

"We. Are. Leaving!"

The Staff sergeant ignored the pain in his body and, firing his rifle one-handed, started running. The creepy-ass overpowered-bitch lady was nowhere to be found and he would be damned if his men were going to die in some filthy field in ass-end of some backwater planet. Where were the dragons when you needed them?

Arrows were coming in left and right and though their suits could stop most of the projectiles with impunity, it only took one projectile to the face to stop their operation. "What the hell happened out there? How did she get past our perimeter?" he bellowed as he dodged a spear aimed at his legs.

"Sir, she appeared out of nowhere and exploded the ground with a gesture, sir," replied Hudson.

"Me and Huds engaged her on close-combat, but she handed our asses on a platter. We pushed her back briefly and then she suddenly pulled back, "added Browning.

The three of them charged across the open field and in-between various fighting groups, stopping only to stab or shoot an important-looking soldier in the face. Occasionally they had to take cover from a hail of arrows or the occasional Kull charging past them, but the majority of the army was steadily falling back to the second fighting point, where the Varden would hold strong against the enemy army.

For ten minutes their group navigated the treacherous battlefield, dodging various fighting parties and attacking soldiers. More than once a dragon sailed over their heads and destroyed a large group of enemy soldiers and at one point, an elf crossed their route and caused a group of ten men to have a simultaneous heart attack or something like that. It was only when they came across another familiar trio that Staff Sergeant Bryce realized that they might be in trouble.

"Ma'am," he called once he came across Second Lieutenant Riley, Specialist Takeo and Flight Officer Allison.

"Sergeant. What's the situation?" she asked.

"It's a mess Ma'am. We can't contact the Captain and there's a Shade on the loose."

"A Shade?" asked the Lieutenant.

Takeo nodded. "A very angry woman with a very sharp blade."

"You encountered her too?"

The Specialist nodded. "I came across her an hour back, before you two found me. She was killing a group of eight sword-fighters."

"All by herself?" asked their pilot. "So that magic shit was true?"

"She knocked the Sarge on his can. How did _you_ survive?" Hudson said, much to said Sarge's frustration.

"By shooting her in both legs and hiding underneath a corpse when she burned the entire area, " Takeo explained.

"Burned the area? Are you shitting me?" said the Flight Officer.

"Magic," spat Bryce. "Ludicrous bullshit. Got ammo?"

"Got shotgun," said Riley. "Why don't you take it? You look like you could use it."

Bryce grabbed the improved Shotgun model and inspected its stock. "What now?" asked Hudson.

"Notice the soldiers running past us? The large camp up ahead? We're falling back son. These men need their cover to get inside of their wooden base and guess what?" he cocked the shotgun and ejected an empty shell. "We're going to cover them."

"What about that Shade?" asked Allison, reloading her sidearm.

"If we spot her, we put her down with singular focus," the Second Lieutenant said while she reloaded her carbine. "Heads up, baddies incoming."

More like thousands of baddies incoming. As if they were bolstered by the Varden's retreat, the many thousands of Empire soldiers were now coming for them en masse. It was as if more than two hours of warfare had done nothing to stern the tide of soldiers.

"You know what I could really use right now," Hudson said as he slapped a fresh click into his rifle.

"What?" asked Bryce.

The Corporal looked up and smiled. "A Spartan."

With a deafening roar, two enormous creatures dropped out of the sky and landed in-between the reforming army of the Varden and the approaching army of the Empire. One was enormous and black and the other was enormous and blue. Both of them reflected the rays of the sun with brilliant clarity, making it appear like they could blind their foes with their appearance alone. The Staff Sergeant, who had previously felt only annoyed with the thought of the Spartan having bonded with an animal, felt a grim form of satisfaction when he saw the thousand-yard wide army halt temporarily. Facing medieval humans or advanced aliens, riding large tanks or flying dragons, Spartans _always _managed to scare the piss out of their enemies.

Bryce could not see Sierra zero-zero-seven, but he could most definitely hear him. The soldier was shooting enemies from the back of his dragon and in the distance several soldiers toppled and fell. Knowing the Spartan, those men had to have been officers leading the army.

"_Lieutenant,_" the Spartan spoke through the comm. "_Split up and take a defensive formation at the second base. I'll find the Captain and bring his group back here."_

"Eh, Spartan?" replied Bryce. "We're low on ammo as it is."

"_That's an order Sergeant. Assist the Varden forces until further notice. "_

After that, the Spartan broke contact and flew towards the overwhelmed outpost, firing his rifle all the while.

"Dick," muttered the Staff Sergeant. "Lieutenant? What do we do?"

"You do what you're supposed to do: as you're told! Take your team and move out."

"Roger that," replied Bryce. "Corporals, with me. Let's show these sissies how real men fight."

"Sir!" Hudson and Browning saluted him, before following him to the right side of the wooden encampment, where they prepared for new combat. For another thirty minutes, the Marines held the line for the Varden. They kept a very careful eye on their ammo counters and made sure not to use their grenades, as they were not outside the blast area. Bryce once had a hole punctured through his leg when he was ninety feet away from a frag grenade detonation, _well _outside of its normal blast radius. If that wasn't a reason to lay off the boom, he didn't know what was.

"Watch your left!"

"Got a guy coming over to the right here!"

They held the Varden's flank even as they were forced to fall back to a more manageable position inside of the fortifications, from where they could stab at the approaching soldiers with any spears and halberds they could get their hands on. They could see the two dragons sailing over the enemy's forces, one of them setting fire and the other one making lethal dive-bombs. Every now and then one of the more noticeable members of the rebellion would make their way back to these new fortifications, which included the elven Princess and the father of the leader of the Varden. But the tide of enemy soldiers was too great to simply hold out against and soon, Bryce was not the only one who was riddled with small bruises from arrows. They were dirty, sweaty, hungry and tired, but they did not stop. Only when they all had only one magazine for their rifles left did they stop firing. By then, the ground was absolutely littered with bodies and most of the Empire soldiers had already stopped attacking his positions. The Staff Sergeant had no idea where the rest of their men were and if the Spartan had managed to get Wren out of his pinch. It had been forty-five minutes since they had last seen the MJOLNIR-clad warrior and despite the fact that things were starting to get quieter on their end, Bryce was starting to feel very uncomfortable. Every now and then they would catch some radio chatter, but Wren remained awfully silent. The Second Lieutenant, the Specialist and the Flight Officer were working together with a group of archers and Kull to fend off a charging wave of siege engines and the two dragons were still rampaging in the distance.

Then, a trumpet sounded in the distance, loud and clear. Someone shouted, "It's the dwarves! They're here!" And Bryce spotted Hudson giving Browning a skeptical glance. The three of them were holed up a few meters above the ground, relatively safe from attacking soldiers. They could descent and ascent should they wish to, but their position was a bit hard to actually retreat from.

"Dwarves? Seriously?" said Hudson. "I can deal with elves, dragons and Shades, but dwarves?"

"Shades are like, women possessed by spirits, right?" asked Browning.

"Not women, dude. People."

"Stay focused," snapped Bryce. "Little people or not, we have a war to fight."

Sure enough, a large army was approaching them from the east. With his rifle-scope, the Staff Sergeant was able to spot the lead figure shimmering like a gem. It looked like a dwarf alright; with gilded armour and a large warhammer. These dwarves were allies, right?

"Well Sarge," Browning said with a relieved gasp, "it looks like we made it. Reinforcements should scare the Empire's soldiers off."

"I know man, another point for the Corps-"

Something cast a shadow over them again and this time, it didn't stop there. Something _massive_ smashed into the wooden frame that the Varden was using to keep the enemy forces at bay and it fell apart completely. With a surprised scream, Bryce lost his balance and fell out of the scaffolding, which soon collapsed around him. He landed on the ground and managed to break his fall, preventing the more serious injuries. He didn't see what happened to the two Corporals, only that something twisted and nightmarish was now skulking around the perimeter.

It looked like a giant bat; it had large, leathery wings, a beak that was larger than a man and bright, evil eyes the size of his fist.

"Holy shit…" the Sergeant muttered as he scrambled for cover. That thing had just smashed the Varden's right flank to pieces and even as he was recovering from the fall, the monster killed half a dozen men simply with brute force. "Hudson! Browning, you there! Shit…"

He pulled out his sidearm, waited a moment to catch his breath and jumped out of the debris. Without waiting to see if he was being attacked by other soldiers, he unloaded a clip into the beast's back. The Armour-Piercing rounds with their High-Explosive tips tore into its flesh, punched through its body and created large, gaping holes. Large droplets of blue-green blood splashed on the ground, but that only seemed to piss the beast off. It turned around and faced Bryce with its black, dead eyes.

And then it roared violently, before advancing upon Bryce.

"Goddamn," the Sergeant cried as he fumbled with his assault rifle. The monster approached him with large steps, looking all the more menacing for it. When it was close enough, it tried to smash him to pieces with its oversized beak. He jumped to the side and rolled over his shoulders to create more distance between himself and the monster, before reloading his pistol and facing it once more. What could this creature possibly be? What spawn of devilish evolution could have wrought _this_?

The monster screeched and the Sergeant tore his combat knife out of its holster, holding it in his hand while placing his right hand on top of it. This thing was no different from the ordinary Brute or Hunter…and it didn't even possess the instant-kill equipment that the alien bastards always wielded. It was a large animal that could bleed. And if it could bleed, he could violently murder it.

"_Sarge, you alright?"_ Hudson's voice came in over the radio. "_Bryce, we're stuck on the other side of the Varden's fortifications. We can get to you, but it will take some –hang on, there's something here."_

The comm went silent again, but the Staff Sergeant didn't pay it any mind. He _could _ take this monstrosity on his own, but he would need some support if he wanted to do it quickly He could see another one flying in the distance, laying waste to the southern barricades.

"Hang in there Corporal, this won't take long…"

The creature screamed again and Bryce opened fire with his assault rifle, aiming at the giant flyer's face. He didn't know what it was or where it came from, but it was hostile and ugly and that was all he needed to take it down.

Unfortunately, his rifle clicked empty after the fourth shot. The rounds impacted on the creature´s head and blew out one of its eyes, but that was not nearly enough to take it down. Instead, it roared with clear pain and anger and furiously charged towards the lone Sergeant, who cursed and jumped out of the way. A wing clipped him across the head and he fell to the ground, bright spots exploding into his view. He heard his com-unit buzzing with activity, but he could not determine what was being said.

The monster spun around and lashed out with its oversized head again, intent on goring the Sergeant with its beak. But the Marine, through years of combat-experience, dodged its attack again and went on the offensive. He slammed his knife into the sturdy beak as it tore into the ground, pulled it down to create a large gasp and was about to go for the bloody hole of the eye when the creature pulled itself back up from the earth, dry sand and pieces of rock falling from its snout as it rose.

The problem was that Staff Sergeant Bryce still had his knife inserted into the tough beak. So when the beast raised itself to its full glory, he went with it. "Oh shiiiiiiiiit!" he cried as the ground rapidly disappeared from underneath his feet. This bastard was at least twenty feet tall; that was too damn high for a Marine to be fighting!

Bryce tried to pull his knife free, but the monster was shaking violently and he couldn't keep a hold of his weapon. If only he could reach his pistol; he could shoot the thing and-

Too late. The creature gave one violent jerk and before he knew it, the Staff Sergeant was sailing through the air and plummeting towards the ground. He landed rather roughly; rolling half a dozen times over the hot, dry ground and coming to a standstill straight on his ass. His fatigues were torn, dirty and bloody and there was probably not a single spot on his body that did _not_ have a bruise or cut on it. It was like that Brute ambush back in '51 all over again!

The Staff Sergeant grumbled as he got back on his feet again. Something _had _to be broken after such a tumble. Not only that, but something was also painfully poking him in his back, which he had felt very clearly when he had seen the difference between heaven and earth about six times.

Watching the creature crawling close yet again, Bryce fumbled at the spherical object that was responsible for the unpleasant feelings and pulled out a frag grenade.

"This'll work," he grumbled, pocketing the explosive. The monstrous bat-pterosaur-thing shrieked once more and threatened to blow his eardrums right out of his head.

"_This is Lance Corporal Browning. We are under heavy fire from an unknown attacker and the Varden is unable to get reinforcements to us! Need fire-support now!"_

Bryce swore as he reached for his pistol and opened fire again. Rounds slammed into the creature's body right as it charged him, causing it to avert its giant beak and present its blinded side. That wasn't what he had planned for this encounter.

"Face me, you ugly bastard!" he shouted, hoping to get the thing's attention. "Come on then! Show me what ya got!"

The big-beaked SOB launched itself at the Staff Sergeant once more, opening its beak to swallow him whole. That was exactly what Bryce had been waiting for; he pulled the pin out of the grenade and, flashing a quick prayer to God in the process, flung it at the monster's face.

The frag disappeared down its gullet and Staff Sergeant Bryce jumped to his left, bashed his head against an offending limb and fell on his ass again. From his prone position, he watched as the enormous bitch raised its head for the killing strike with that Spartan-sized beak, before its stomach exploded outwards and showered the area with gore. Blue-green blood went everywhere and large chunks of flesh covered the ground in a ten-meter radius. Shrapnel impacted a few inches away from the Sergeant's crotch and the large, lifeless corpse collapsed to the ground.

"Oh man," breathed the Staff Sergeant. "That was some bullshit."

But there were more of those flying monstrosities circling above the camp; he counted at least five of them attacking the Varden alone, giving the Empire's soldiers the chance they needed to properly regroup and storm the encampment. Even as the dwarf army closed in on the Empire's forces, the two dragons returned from laying waste to the enemy and returned to engage the big-ass bats.

Bryce activated his comm, cleared his throat and wiped the blood off his ear. "This is Staff Sergeant rBryce. Hudson, you there? Browning? Come in!"

"_Sarge? Where the hell are you! We're getting our ass kicked!"_

"Copy that, on my way."

He shook his head and got to his feet. His knees were trembling and each time he took a breath, his ribs hurt. He had gotten a _beating _this fight…damn oversized flying SOBs…

Bryce stumbled his way into the Varden's camp, ignoring the dozens of bodies that lay scattered around the ruined fortifications. The constant screeching of the airborne hostiles was driving him mad. What the hell were those things? Where did they come from? They looked like dragons, but…they had to be some sort of birds. How come they worked with the Empire then? Magic?

Up ahead, the screams of the fighting soldiers were less pronounced than outside of the camp. Hudson and Browning were dealing with a large hole in the outer perimeter and as the last soldier in red fell to the ground, his bloody hands clutching at Hudson's gore-smeared boots, Bryce understood that something was terribly wrong. All the Varden soldiers in the area were dead, but they didn't appear damaged in any way. "Corporal! Sitrep, now!"

Hudson didn't reply, which was extremely unlikely for him. That meant that whoever had been killed off all the allied soldiers was still around.

The Staff Sergeant reached for his rifle, only to realize that he had discarded it during the aerial ambush and that he only had his sidearm. "Goddamnit," he grumbled. "Hudson!"

"Sarge," replied the Corporal. "Watch out, it's her!"

Who?

Suddenly, Browning came sprinting towards him, as if the kid had seen a ghost behind his back. Something whistled through the air and Bryce turned around just in time to see someone slicing at him with a sword. Despite the clumsy fog in his head and the pain in his chest, he still managed to bring his arms up and deflect what would have been a lethal strike. But the sword still nearly cut through his thick armguards and carved into his flesh, drawing blood and forcing him down with sheer force alone.

Browning smashed into the warrior as the sword was about to come down for a second time and the two of them crashed into the ruined frameworks, where multiple jagged edges of wood were sticking out of. Hudson ran up to Bryce while aiming his rifle at the two combatants. "Move it Brown, gimme a target!"

But the Lance Corporal, for all his skills in close combat, was severely outmatched. Even as the Staff Sergeant rose to his feet, even as Corporal Hudson aimed down his sights, the sword-master ran Browning through with the sword. He screamed and Hudson screamed and above all, the warrior laughed with that terrible, feminine voice.

A fury unlike he had felt in a long time took control over Bryce's body. In spite of the injuries he had sustained, watching the bloody body of his comrade in arms sliding off of a pale blade and falling to the ground, he charged the one responsible. But a slender arm brushed him aside with the effortless motion of an Elite backhanding a Grunt and sent him sprawling to the ground again.

"You bitch!" Hudson screamed with barely contained rage. "You're dead!"

The woman responsible raised her head and revealed a set of scarlet eyes and blood-red hair. "Don't think so."

It was the same piece of whore Shade as before!

Hudson whipped out his combat knife and recklessly advanced towards the Shade, going fully offensive. As soon as he had the woman distracted, Bryce jumped to his feet and tried to pistol-whip her over her head, but she averted his attack without even taking her eyes off of Hudson and simply kept walking towards the kid.

The Staff Sergeant regained his footing and, just like the Corporal, brandished his knife and started hacking away at her. He had sliced up Grunts, Jackels and even Elites with the knife and on one occasion, distracted a hunter long enough with it for someone else to shoot it in the unarmoured back. Yet this creepy bitch managed to counter every single strike that he and Hudson attempted to play on her and it didn't stop there. She was also driving them back; the Shade was actually forcing the two of them to gradually move backwards and give up meters worth of ground. Bryce made the mistake of stumbling over the corpse that Hudson did not miss and he paid for it immediately; the Shade struck him in the chest with the butt of her sword and sent him flying backwards. His armour saved him from being impaled on a dead soldier's sword, but he did sustain even more injuries in the process of rolling over a death-scorched landscape once again.

He groaned loudly and pulled a piece of metal out of his leg. Of all the things to roll around in…

Faced with the ultimate decision of either helping the grievously wounded Browning or the hopelessly outmatched Hudson, Staff Sergeant Bryce did what he had always done in the past. He chose the one who was the least likely to die, so that he might have a bigger chance of doing something right. He went for his sidearm, only to discover that it was missing. Then he went for his combat knife, only to find out that the piece of metal that he had pulled out of his leg _was _his knife.

In the meantime, Hudson managed to land exactly two blows before the Shade grabbed him by the side of the neck, forced him down to his knees and raised her sword for the coup de grace. Just as she was about to bring the blade down, a figure jumped in-between the two of them. The newcomer slashed across the Shade's hand to make her drop her weapon, as well as kicking her in the face with enough force to send her flying several meters through the air.

"Hudson," the Staff Sergeant yelled as he ran towards his brother-in-arms. "Corporal, respond!"

"She took out Browning, Bryce," Hudson replied with a furious expression. "She killed him! She goddamn killed him!"

The newcomer who had saved their ass had initially been wearing a hood, but that had fallen off during their entrance and now it revealed another redheaded female. Browning lay half a dozen meters behind the two fighting women, bleeding but not yet dead. That was enough motivation for Bryce to keep going.

"I know son. We're gonna make her pay. But unless you can turn your fingers into goddam energy swords, we're boned beyond believe!"

Hudson pushed him. "What else can we do then, huh? I'm going to make that…that _thing _pay with her life!"

He pushed the Corporal back, trying to force some sense into him. "As will I, Hudson. But you're wounded and exhausted! You getting yourself killed won't do a damn thing!"

A few meters away from the two arguing marines, the two Shades were fighting out a duel that was almost too fast to follow with the naked eye. Even when Bryce, who considered himself hardcore son of a bitch in close combat, turned to look at their fight he did not instantly see who was winning. There were two of the Shades, one with medium-length hair and one with long hair. The one with shorter hair was wearing black leather clothing with a cape that started at her waist, while the one with the long hair had a ragged combat skirt that reached to her feet. The two were very evenly matched, though the Staff Sergeant did not even know why they were fighting in the first place.

"It's her," Hudson then said, releasing his anger-filled tone as he recognized one of the two.

"Who?"

"The one who saved my ass. She was there with Nasuada…and she was there when I stayed behind to confront our stalker. Hell, she _was _our stalker!"

That came as a surprise to Bryce. "Why would she-"

"Look, sir, with all due respect, we should be helping her! Hell, we should be helping Browning! He's lying there and we can't-"

At that moment, a dozen imperial soldiers spotted them and their leader shouted something about destroying rebel scum for the king. Without pause, Hudson scooped a blood-covered sword from the ground and pushed it into Bryce's arms. "Cover me, I'm going in!"

"What?" Bryce snapped. "You nuts? They're going to string you up by your balls, the devil-worshipping monsters-"

'Sarge," interrupted Hudson, "We've faced worse before!"

Without waiting for a reply, the brash Corporal rushed towards the fight again. Bryce swore under his breath as he followed the marine, heading towards the two rampaging creatures that resembled Spartans in their fighting-style. He couldn't even follow their moves! Both of them were simply hacking into each other with blinding speed and, when the sword didn't suffice, they resorted to crude close-quarters combat that always resulted with one of the two being smashed into a nearby obstruction. Hudson had no idea what he was getting himself into.

The headstrong Corporal threw himself at the long-haired hostile just as she swung her sword at her foe, catching her off-guard and stabbing her in her neck. Instead of dying, as any proper creature should, she backhanded the marine and threw him to the ground. She then used magic to push the other Shade into a distant piece of rubble. Then she turned to face Hudson, who was scrambling to get back from her/ Blood was still sticking to her sword, but the wound in her neck had sealed itself up completely. "Let me guess…from the Stars, both of you?"

Hudson threw a punch at her face, but she grabbed his fist in midair and kicked him in his stomach, sending him flying backwards. Bryce had just reached the two combatants and he had been about to pull the same stabbing method the Corporal had utilized, when said Corporal smashed into him and send the two of them tumbling to the ground.

"So disappointing," the woman said with a creepy grin. "I was _really _looking forward to a good fight."

"Bitch is laughing at us!" exclaimed Bryce.

"Not for long," replied Hudson. A searing torrent of flames enveloped the Shade, pulling her away from their normal view and setting the ground alight. It lasted for a few seconds, before the corona of fire exploded outwards and set fire to the surrounding wooden fortifications. With a furious expression, the Shade turned to face the offender.

"Has your time with the humans dulled your instincts?" the Shade cried, retaliating by creating a thin beam of light and directing it at the other Shade's head, who narrowly dodged it. "The King wanted you to return the egg, and what did you do? You failed!"

"I tried," the other woman shouted back. "I did! But what waited for me on the journey was far beyond the King's ability to command!"

"You were a coward!"

The short-haired Shade slashed at the other one with her sword and unleashed a series of heavy blows, all of which were deflected by her opponent. "Me? Coward? _You _were the one who failed to track the Starborn humans down! You were too scared to face _her _wrath!"

The bitch-Shade fought back by shattering the ground around her into pieces, before launching the sharp rubble at her foe. "Yet I am still here, true to my destination."

"And I am here, free to do what _I _want!" yelled the other Shade, spinning her blade around in a circle to deflect the projectiles. "And _you _are bound to the spirits in your head."

"You are abomination!"

"I am _free_! Just like the woman whose body you are wearing once was. I serve my lady of my own bidding!"

Bryce had NO idea what this was all about. All the talk about spirits was just another layer of bullshit on top of what had to be the most violent magic fight he had ever witnessed.

Hudson managed to get his hands on his pistol, which had been knocked out of his grip before. He didn't hesitate for a second and opened fire on the hostile Shade, sending at least three rounds through her chest before she turned around and lunged at the Corporal with a savage growl. She did not get far though, as the other Shade jumped after her, grabbed a hold of her leg and pulled her back. Hudson, unfazed by the attempt at his life, calmly aimed his pistol at the trashing Shade before she could reposition herself. But then, a large gash appeared in his gun-wielding arm and he was forced to drop his gun with a cry of surprise.

But Bryce wasn't about to let an advantage go to waste. Just as Hudson stumbled backwards to avoid additional magic attacks, the Staff Sergeant threw his own knife at him. The Corporal caught the blade at the same time as the short-haired Shade caught a kick to her face, allowing the long-haired one to lash out at Hudson. But for all of the bitch's ferocity, and aggression, Hudson's technique was still better. She flung her sword at him and he took the faster route, slamming his knife right into her throat and pulling it up, tearing into her jaw.

But instead of blood and pieces of flesh, her open wounds released a dark cloud of shadows, pouring out of the breach in her skin. The woman stopped her attack dead in its tracks and backed off, clutching her wounded throat. But the wound sealed itself up within two seconds and Hudson was close, too close. The Shade growled and grabbed Hudson by his throat, lifting him off his feet and tightening her grip on him until her slender fingers were pale with the pressure.

The Corporal was unable to do anything to defend himself. Bryce could not get close enough in time to prevent the Shade from killing him.

"Go meet your friend," the woman hissed at the helpless Hudson dangling in her grip. Before she could do anything else than stare menacingly at his face, though, a sword ran her through from behind and protruded from her chest, still devoid of any blood. She instantly let Hudson go and stumbled backwards, her hands clutching the gaping hole on her heart. The woman responsible for the blow caught her from behind. No words came out of the Shade's wide-open mouth, only an animalistic scream of pain and rage. While Hudson lay on the ground, unmoving and unresponsive, the Shade's skin turned transparent. Instead of bone or blood, her body was filled with spiraling shadows. Within two seconds, the shadows pulsated and broke through her skin, rending her from head to toe and disappearing into the burning camp.

And with them, the Shade herself was gone too.

The other Shade calmly sheathed her sword and knelt down next to Hudson. She wasn't a threat to them at the moment…and Browning needed help. Hudson would have to wait.

Bryce ignored the blazing fires and cracked ground around him and made his way towards the prone form of the fallen Lance Corporal. Now that the imminent threat had been dealt with, he could-

Bryce stopped upon seeing the wound that Browning had suffered. The young marine was lying in a large pool of his own blood, weakly attempting to get upright. "Ah hell…"

"S-Sarge…" The Lance Corporal groaned softly, tried to rise and failed. He took a shuddering breath and Bryce knelt by his side.

"Don't try to talk son. We'll get you out of here."

"…I…I want to…_home_…"

"Save your breath...you can pull through this." But even though he said that, Bryce knew that the kid wouldn´t simply pull through. The Shade had caused a grievous wound to his chest, ruined his chest cavity and punctured both of his lungs. It was a wonder he was still alive at this point. "Come on Ben…stay with me."

"Sarge…"

"Benjamin…you can do this…"

The Staff Sergeant knew what the dying marine was talking about. When his home had been destroyed by the Covenant a few years ago, Earth had become his last remaining form of home. And he had never once seen it. But that didn't matter! He would survive this mess and make it to Earth one day! "Come on Corporal, stay with me! Corporal…Benjamin? Ben…?"

* * *

Secret-Spartan zero-zero-seven impacted on the ground with enough force to send a dozen armoured soldiers stumbling backwards and immediately lashed out at the closest trio with a pike he had stolen beforehand. The rest he killed by severing a vital nerve between their brains and brain-stern. In the three hours that the fight had been going on, he had alternated between fighting massive groups of enemies on the ground and infiltrating key enemy strongpoints, eliminating them to soften up the Imperial army for the Varden's own troops. Just fifteen minutes ago, the dwarves had arrived with an army large enough to match that of the Varden, easily doubling their forces. That was the good news.

The bad news was the swarm of Lethrblaka that had shown up out of nowhere. At least a dozen of those big, crawly bastards had descended upon the unknowing Varden troops, laying waste to easily a hundred brave men and women in one surprise attack. He had personally taken out three of the bat-like creatures within the first ten minutes of their attack and Aeraleth a fourth. He had no idea where those things were coming from and why they were so intent on decimating the Varden's forces though. The important people were still alive and he intended to keep them that way. The only problem was that most of the Lethrblaka had now identified him as their primary target. He couldn't walk a dozen feet without having three of the things descend upon at the same time. Even now, after he had killed one of the more prominent leaders of the Empire's forces, a group of them swept down to take care of him.

And he was happy to oblige. Even though the things were every bit as cunning and smart as Oromis had taught him they were, he still had no problems devising new methods to murder them. The first one had gone down after he had shot its eyes out with a Sniper Rifle, the second one he had killed by jumping onto its neck and breaking its bone there and the third one he had set alight by manipulating the flames from underground the Burning Plains.

'_Aeraleth, we got hostiles.'_

'_I am coming.'_

His bonded partner swept down from above, grabbed him in her talons and carried him off before a Lethrblaka could break its beak on him. '_How's Hrothgar faring?'_

'_The old dwarf is holding his own in the fight. His soldiers are changing the tide, though the enemy is still at large.'_

'_And Eragon?'_

'_He is reconciling with his brother, near the river.'_

'_The moron on the ship?'_

'_That would be him. Saphira told me that his brother rallied his fellow humans and took them from their doomed hometown to here.'_

'_Why here?'_

Aeraleth roared and rolled out of the way as a Lethrblaka came her way. The enormous avian screeched in return and missed them by mere feet. Maine, knowing that the dragon could take it, pried himself loose from her claws and started climbing upwards, towards her back. '_I know not. To aid his brother? To enact judgment upon him?'_

Maine grabbed his pistol and shot an approaching Lethrblaka in the face, driving it off. '_How are you faring?'_

'_I can still fly.'_

'_That doesn't answer my question.'_

Aeraleth halted in mid-air and then performed a summersault to dodge a scarred Lethrblaka as it returned to nail her. Throughout the fight, she had accumulated multiple dozen injuries. The soldiers' armour cut the inside of her mouth as she mauled them to death, their spears and pikes cut into her unprotected wings and their blunt weapons caused trauma to her limbs. He had spent all the energy he had dumped in the necklace of Anghar the builder on healing her many wounds and protecting her against magic attacks, for the magicians of the enemy army were foolhardy. But they were also very stupid; each attack led him to where it originated, allowing him to neutralize every magician that tried to harm them.

'_I am well enough, little soldier. Focus on your own battle.'_

Because no enemy had been capable of harming him, Maine had been able to destroy many hundreds of enemies purely with magic and weapons he had stolen. He was fairly certain that he had been responsible for the deaths of about a thousand men and still the battle went on. No matter how many officers or magicians he killed, the army never seemed to stop attacking. Whoever was commanding them had to be very capable, to be picked by Galbatorix to lead this army.

'_I can see Arya and Daenlith down there. They appear to be in trouble.'_

'_How so?' _Maine asked, forming a thin beam of fire to slice up a soldier who was shouting orders below.

'_See for yourself.'_ Aeraleth flashed him a mental image of the two elven ladies, facing off against a large group of soldiers with spears and a looming Lethrblaka in the background.

'_Take out that enemy air-support. I'll handle the stragglers.'_

'_Affirmative.´_

Aeraleth flattened her wings against her sides and sped towards the ground, where the black shape of the Lethrblaka was simply begging for an aerial assault. ´_Happy hunting.´_

The Spartan jumped off of his partner, plummeted three dozen meters in freefall before sailing past the large bat-like monstrosity. In the split-second that he passed the thing's head by in the air, he dug his gauntlet deep into its eye-socket and folded his fingers inwards, tearing it apart. The creature screeched in pain and fury, but Maine was long since on the ground when it tried to orient itself on its foe. And instead of a flying Spartan, the Lethrblaka was faced with the fury of a rampaging dragon.

Redirecting his kinetic energy into his environment, the Spartan cut his impact-energy in half and knocked two dozen soldiers on their asses.

"Spartan," Arya exclaimed as she scrambled back to her feet.

"What are you doing here, Spartan?" asked Daenlith.

"Thought I'd drop by," he remarked. "Need a hand?"

Arya looked in the air, spotting Aeraleth tearing the Lethrblaka's abdomen apart with her sharp claws while keeping its throat locked in a death-grip with her jaws. "I would prefer to know where these beats came from."

"The King has a vile army," replied Daenlith. "He allied himself with the Ra'zac and the Lethrblaka in the past."

"With the dwarves here, we'll push them back," Maine replied, knowing that the silver-haired female had bad experiences with the leather-flappers. "Just wait till you see our Warthogs."

"Your what?"

'_Maine, I need you!'_

'_I'm here, what's wrong?'_

The two elves grew quiet and for a moment, Maine wondered what was going on. The soldiers around them had all backed off at his entrance, so they weren't in any immediate threat. What was wrong?

That was when he noticed the horns. Multiple horns were echoing from the rear of the Empire's army, clearly audible for all who were present. After that, someone began to pound what had to be an enormous drum.

"What is-"

"We got trouble," Maine barked upon seeing a figure detach itself from the enemy's army. "Fall back to the main base and stick close to the UNSC personnel." To Aeraleth, he said, '_Pick me up. The King has another dragon.´_

"Eragon," Arya yelled with a concerned voice. "Spartan, you must help Eragon!"

He glanced at her, finding it odd that she would worry about Eragon like that. Still, he said, "I'll find him" and turned around to find Aeraleth.

"Be careful," Daenlith told him.

He hesitated for a moment. "You too." Then, Aeraleth swept down and picked him up.

'_Galbatorix hatched another egg,'_ Maine told his partner as she sped towards the newcomer on the battlefield.

'_That traitor will pay with his blood!' _Aeraleth told him with a loud growl.

The Spartan was about to reply, when something massive smashed into Aeraleth and knocked her out of the air. The two of them plunged towards the ground, the Lethrblaka that had flung itself against them still firmly attached to Aeraleth's side. Its beak was slick with her blood, which came from a wound that the monster had inflected on her.

"Aeraleth," snapped Maine, but then something smashed into him as well and knocked him from his partner's back. They were still a considerable distance above the ground and the fact that Aeraleth had already been losing a lot of altitude did not remotely help. Because his foe had attacked him from behind, he could not immediately defend himself. From the sheer force of the impact and the iron grasp that his foe had exerted on him, Maine knew that his foe was either a Kull or an elf. And as the two of them went sailing off towards the ground, he only just managed to turn himself around and call upon his magical energy when a mental probe the size of the _When Duty Ends _slammed into his mind. The power behind the attack was unlike anything he had ever felt before and the only thing he could do was hide his thoughts behind an image of an exploding plasma grenade. But it was not enough; the attack on his mind penetrated deep into his consciousness and cut through his defenses, swatting his concentration aside and breaking his attempt at movement apart. Then, the alien intrusion prevented him from maneuvering himself for an easy landing, forcing him to smash into the ground at high speed. He felt his enemy leave him at the last possible second, saving itself while he impacted on the ground. It was only because he had automatically overpressured his gel layer that he had managed to endure the impact without any major injuries. Even then, his shields were completely drained.

The Spartan, mentally being freed by the impact, immediately jumped to his feet and assessed the situation. Aeraleth was in the air, fighting with two Lethrblaka at the same time. The people around them were all Imperial troops and in the distance, Eragon was engaging the new Rider with the red dragon.

Maine was just about to focus on his foe when something extremely fast shot at his head. He instinctively tucked his head closer to his center of mass and defended himself against whatever was attacking him. Then, lacking a proper tactic against an unknown foe, he retreated a few meter and reached for his assault rifle, only to realize that he had lost it during the fall.

"You," an exotic voice said from behind him, "are something that I cannot allow to happen."

Knowing that his shields needed time to recharge, the Spartan spun around and tried to call upon his magic once more. And again, that unfathomable mental attack pressured him to seek shelter deep within his core self, where he hid behind multiple barriers of memories and images. It served to protect him, but he could not concentrate upon the spell he needed.

"Who are you?" he asked, seeking to win the time he needed by stalling. His opponent closely resembled a Shade, but he knew that she was different. She wore a long, black combat skirt that hid her legs and was covered in intricate, purple symbols. Her arms were bare, her skin pale and almost gray. Her abdomen was protected by a set of ribbed, flexible armour plates, just like her right arm was. Her left arm and shoulder were left bare, while her breasts were covered by a thin layer of gray leather. It was her right hand which made her look different from his foes; she had a set of metal claws attached to her finger tips, like brass knuckles, only more refined and elegant.

The blood-red hair that reached to her waist and the strikingly red pupils were all the same when compared to the likes of Raia, but there was something else in her eyes that nearly caused him to flinch. It was an uncanny amount of intelligence, but also a very predatory look that spoke of years of experience. But only when he spotted the long, slender ears that belonged to an elf did he realize that this foe was beyond all others he had fought. This creature was a Shade, but she was also an elf. A Shade-elf. An elf-Shade. Seeing as both Shades as elves were many times more capable than humans and that the mental probe from before had been more powerful than Oromis's and Raia's combined, he might actually be in quite a bit of trouble now.

"I am the Mistress of these lands," the woman replied with her nearly hypnotizing voice, staring at him with her inscrutable eyes. "Eternal, ever-lasting…and _you _are trespassing."

Maine noticed that his shields were slowly recharging. Overhead, Aeraleth was locked in a terrible battle with the two Lethrblaka. "Me and an entire army."

The lady kept staring at him with an expression that could only be described as amused. "Yes. And to persist is a fool's errand."

That settled it; she was hostile and his shields were recharged well enough. He dug his heels deep into the scorching grounds underneath his feet and charged at the Shade, knowing just how he was going to take her out.

And she moved as well. She moved with more elegance than he had ever seen, even among the elves. He threw a punch at her face and she, either through years of experience or senses greater than his own, guided his arm over her head and pulled him off balance. He brought his other fist up to deliver an uppercut, but she simply placed her arm on his elbow end pushed his arm in the direction of his punch, well out of her way.

And then, after such an easy and quick manner of redirecting his attacks, she grabbed his head with both of her hands and brought it down violently on her knee, depleting forty percent of his shield. Before he could recover from the Hunter-resembling strike, she stepped backwards and kicked him in his chest, sending him a goof few meters backwards.

Maine felt _very_ confused at the moment he managed to regain his balance. He weighed half a ton in his armour; even Hunters that had managed to hit him didn't get him much further than a few meters. How was this…this _thing _stronger than a Hunter? And how had she nearly flattened his shields with only two hits, powerful as they were?

"Spare yourself further embarrassment and come with me," she said, her eyes nearly glowing with menace.

Come with her…Shade…Mistress of the land…could this be…was this Raia's mistress?

…where were his guns when he needed them?

He ignored her obvious taunt and attacked her mind in retaliation, focusing his full consciousness on her defenses and her defenses alone. He had never encountered anyone who could withstand his mental attacks and even if she could defend herself for a few moments, he would only increase the pressure of images and tendrils of intrusion.

The only problem was that she performed the mental equivalent of an outflanking; from behind her smooth walls, she extended several sharp probes, curbed his own attack and lashed out at his mind. She inflected the now-familiar sensations of a mental intrusion on his mind and increased the pain with several other attacks. Maine countered by blocking Aeraleth's bond so that she wouldn't feel his pain or experience the memory-flashes that were about to come and then took a few steps towards the Shade. He could ignore pain and brush mental attacks aside. She was nothing compared to his physical prowess.

Maine took a deep breath and, using a smaller knife that he had pulled from his thigh, opened his assault with a series of vertical and horizontal slashes, drawing imaginary lines through the sky and forcing the Mistress back. She countered his attacks by weaving in-between his strikes, dodging the lightning-quick attacks without any apparent effort, before unleashing several quick punches aimed at his chest. She flattened his shields once more, hit him in his visor with an open palm-strike and even managed to spin around him when he tried to force her away with a stop-kick. She grabbed him by his shoulder and pulled him off-balance again. Then, she used his own mass against him by redirecting his balance-point and causing him to stumble forwards. Her slender hand was there to catch him and she grabbed him by his head, forced his neck back and then slammed him into the ground, the back of his skull first.

The impact rattled his teeth and caused white blots to appear in front of his vision. But in spite of the force of the concussive impact, the Spartan immediately jumped back to his feet and scooped a nearby sword off the ground. It was a short, metal thing that didn't hold a candle to dwarf or elf technique, but it would have to do.

"Amusing at best," muttered the woman.

The Spartan replied to her words by savagely attacking her frail body with the sharp piece of metal, intent on slicing her to pieces. In spite of her appearance, she managed to hold her own against his attacks with a deep, purple sword that proved to be superior to his own. Upon the fourth strike, the human sword snapped in two and the top of the sword disappeared into the mob of Imperial soldiers, where it lodged itself into the chest of an archer.

With her clawed hand, the Shade slashed at his chest as the sword broke, drawing a few shallow cuts across his sturdy plate. "From the deepest depths, I stare at thee."

"_Who _are you?" he asked, backing up to allow his shield to recover from those impossibly fast blows. Her sword had to be a Rider's sword, but that was impossible. She had to have stolen it.

"I am the death that precedes obliteration. Even without a dragon, you are not my equal."

Droplets of blood were starting to fall from the sky as a third Lethrblaka attacked Aeraleth, forcing her on the defensive. Aeraleth was losing her fight. The troops around the Shade and him regained their composure and readied their weapons for a concentrated attack, while she merely kept her blade at her side. He was losing his fight too.

"Now," said the elf-Shade, "come dance with death herself."


	24. Bloodbath of the Burning Plains Pt III

_**I think this is important before you start reading. This chapter contains some heavy stuff and there might even be some triggers in here for the sensitive. Nothing sexually related and nothing extremely gory, but still enough for me to drop this warning here. **_

_**-MD21**_

* * *

Eragon knew that the future of the Varden depended on this fight. He knew that Surda was going to fall if he lost this fight and he knew that everyone he loved would die. And yet, as Saphira barreled towards the enemy dragon at speeds that forced him to hold on with all of his power, he did not feel like he was about to change the future. He felt nauseous, scared and angry. Scared that he was about to face an enemy Rider for the very first time. Angry that Galbatorix had enslaved another noble creature to fight for his side.

Then, as one, Saphira and Eragon assaulted the minds of the enemy, seeking to overwhelm their defenses with sheer force. But the instant they made contact, the Rider jabbed right back at his attack and covered his mind behind a smooth defense that felt eerily familiar. But their mental contact broke away as Saphira impacted on the red dragon, grappling with the smaller creature as they lashed out and kicked at each other's bellies. They produced painfully loud screeches as their talons scraped against flat scales and armoured limbs. Eragon really wished that Saphira's armour still fitted her; she had grown too large to fit in it.

Eragon couldn't keep holding on to Zar'roc as the two dragons smashed each other. They battered each other with violent blows with their tails and feet, tumbling towards the ground as they did. Only when they were mere dozens of meters above the ground did they disengage, where Saphira struggled to regain attitude. Once she recovered she reared her head and unleashed a brilliant torrent of fire, but the red dragon imitated her and attacked them with a red stream of his own. The two surges of fire collided and blue and red combined in the middle, producing a bright explosion of colours. Eragon had to avert his gaze from the spectacle, cursing as he did. His enhanced senses were very useful and all, but they only provided him with disadvantages in combat. Until he learned how to deal, bright flashes and loud noises were going to distract him painfully.

Unfazed by the explosion of fire, Saphira kept charging towards the dragon and continued her assault. But the moment the two of them locked talons together, something black and large plowed through them and separated their combat. Eragon caught a brief flash of an enormous beak and black, leathery wings before Saphira readjusted and forced him to look away. He did not want his bonded partner to be subject to the fury of the enemy dragon for too long; he needed to end this battle before anyone was going to suffer further injuries.

Over Saphira's shoulder, he saw the red dragon landing somewhere near the river. He thought it very odd that they would just retreat like that …unless it was a trap of some sort. Why was the Rider going there? What was he planning?

Eragon felt another stab of mental contact in his head, but he defended himself against it and surveyed the battlefield, hoping to spot anyone that could engage the rider. But there was nobody there; the dwarves were pushing back the massive army of the empire together with the Varden's forces, the two elves were fighting on the frontlines and Spartan…

Where was Spartan? If there was one situation where Eragon could need him, this was it.

The enemy Rider stepped off of his dragon and walked to the edge of the stone plateau, stopping right at the edge.

_What is he doing, _Eragon thought. The lack of anything Spartan-shaped served to remind him that, as a Rider, it was his duty to be present when the most powerful enemy faced his allies. He would take it upon himself to defeat this new Rider and take him a prisoner; he knew that the king would have forced this person to become his slave. No self-respecting dragon would ever agree to serve that madman.

"Takes us down," cried Eragon. "I'll face him on the ground."

With a grunt of weary recognition, Saphira descended to the small open area. Another creature sailed through the air, which Eragon identified as a Lethrblaka, an adult Ra'zac. He couldn't dwell on the appearance of that monster now though; he had a duty to carry out. If all the violent explosions near the Varden's main camp was anything to go by, the Starborn soldiers were putting their deadly weapons to good use. They would take care of the Lethrblaka.

Saphira aligned on the stone plateau and Eragon jumped off, testing his footing in case he needed to spring to attention. The ground was smooth and hard; nothing like the unbalancing and deadly ground that the majority of the Burning Plains had to offer. This would serve his needs.

Eragon stepped closer to the center of the slab, carefully approaching the other Rider. He held his blade by his side, careful not to appear hostile. "We are not your enemies," he called out without exposing his mind. "We do not want to fight you." The other Rider was wearing a full set of shiny, steel armour, which would be difficult to fight through.

"Eragon," spoke the Rider, "you need to get out of here!"

Eragon felt a jolt run through his stomach when he heard that voice; that worried, scared voice. He could recognize it everywhere; he had heard it in his dreams, his nightmares and even in his daydreams. It was the voice of a person who had become his best friend, someone he could rely on and someone who was as close to being his brother as Roran was. But that couldn't be true; that person was dead. Dragged to his end by the urgals. "Murtagh?" whispered Eragon.

The Rider pulled his metal helmet off and revealed the familiar face of Eragon's friend. "Listen to me. You are not safe here –you need to get…out of here. Before she gets you!"

Eragon didn't understand. He couldn't understand. "Murtagh, you were dead! I watched the urgals drag you underground –I tried to scry you, but I only saw darkness!" He took a few steps towards his friend, but Murtagh pulled his hand-and-a-half up with a rough jerk and Eragon stopped, shocked by the weird movement. It wasn't aggressive, but there was something about it that was wrong.

"You saw blackness. Nothing. Just as I saw nothing when I scryed you," replied Murtagh. He was looking over Eragon's shoulder, as if something morbidly interesting was happening behind him. But Eragon knew that, with Saphira circling around behind him, nothing could sneak up on him. "Heavens, I missed you Eragon."

"But Arya found your clothes…together with that of the twins," insisted Eragon.

A shadow played over Murtagh's face and he averted his eyes. "No, I didn't die. It was the twins' doing, Eragon. They took control over a group of urgals…arranged the ambush to capture me. You have to believe me, it wasn't me! I'd never-"

"I do," Eragon quickly replied. The urge and desperation in Murtagh's voice was unsettling him. "You would never work with them. But what happened?"

"They cursed me so that I could not escape…and then they spirited me off to Uru'baen."

Eragon felt a shiver running down his spine. "Uru'baen…to Galbatorix?"

"To Galbatorix," Murtagh replied with a haunted laugh. "And he punished me for all those years of defiance…and then he plundered my mind for everything I knew about you, Saphira and the Varden."

"I am sorry," Eragon whispered as he shook his head in shock. "I am so sorry. Just…just come with us. We can fix this."

"Fix this? Eragon, you naïve idiot! When Thorn hatched for me, the King had me! He forced us both so swear fealty to him in the ancient language. We cannot disobey him now."

Something flew overhead and the two of them quickly ducked when Thorn and Saphira loudly roared, first in the sky and then at each other. Murtagh's face went ghastly pale and he brought his arm to his head, as if to avert an invisible blow. It was only then that Eragon saw that his friend had a purple bruise on his cheek.

"Why are you here then? Are you here to kill us?"

"No!" Murtagh shouted angrily. "Don't you see? Galbatorix wants you alive! You or Spartan, he doesn't care. But he's not the main threat –he's not the most dangerous one. Eragon, just leave this place. Leave Spartan, leave the Varden and run! You have nobody here, right? If…if the king doesn't know, he can't force me to go after you!"

"No," Eragon firmly said. "I have friends here. I have Arya. I will not leave my place here…but I don't need to. Murtagh, you can come with us-"

"Listen to me Eragon! If I don't take you with me, _she _will! And she will break you, she will _break! _You!"

"Who will! Who are you talking about?"

"Don't you see, they aren't all dead, they moved on!"

Murtagh sounded so desperate that Eragon was starting to think that he was rambling. It was only when something landed in-between them that he was brought back to the reality of the war. Murtagh jumped backwards with a yell and both of the dragons flinched. "What! Is that –what-"

"Spartan," Eragon cried when he recognized the smoking piece of metal that had just smashed into the ground. "What happened?"

"Eragon," snapped Murtagh, "let me take you! It will save you!"

"Both of you shut up," said the smoking form of the Spartan. "We got trouble!"

"Who? Who's after us Murtagh? Who could possibly be worse than the king?" shouted Eragon, his patience nearly running out. "He enslaved you! Ravaged your mind and forced you to his side!"

"He's still human," retorted Murtagh with a hint of finality. And then Eragon felt a presence unlike he had ever felt before; the sheer proximity of the consciousness was enough to sap his strength and will and make his knees weak.

"Murtagh, things have changed. Spartan and I are two riders and his people are here! They can turn the tide of the war!"

"And yet they shall not escape justice," said a new voice. A voice that, Eragon was certain, would haunt him in his dreams. If echoed through his mind for far longer than seemed possible and it had a very worrying physical effect on his body, making his limbs shake and his mind buzz.

As the Spartan crawled to his feet, someone stepped up to Murtagh and casually placed a hand on top of his head. Murtagh's expression shifted from angry panic to sheer helpless panic. His eyes widened, his mouth opened in a soundless scream and his chest, hidden behind his metal plate, started heaving rapidly. He was scared to death of this new enemy and Eragon did not remotely doubt his reasoning.

The woman standing next to Eragon's friend was wearing a long, black dress that made her look even more regal than the noblest of elves. Her chest and stomach were covered with segmented, ribbed armour that looked wrong, while her extremely pale arms were completely bare. Her right hand had a set of sharp, metal claws attached to her fingers, which looked like they could cut through dragon scales with ease. Her pointed ears identified her as an elf, but her long, flowing red hair identified her as a Shade.

Eragon's breathing fastened and he felt a nearly overwhelming sense of fear stabbing at his mind. This woman…this _creature_…was no ordinary shade. The way she had simply snuck up on him and Murtagh….the fear terror she induced in his friend, who feared only the king himself. How was this thing still alive? How come the Spartan hadn't dealt with it?

The Spartan got to his feet, but he looked off too. He didn't quite possess the elegant stance from before anymore, like he was very tired or wounded.

"The Imperial army is on the run," said Eragon. "The Varden will win this."

But Murtagh wasn't listening to him. "I was just about to take him with me –there is no need to interfere. Just…just please do something else. Give me more time!"

"Actually," replied the woman, "Galbatorix has you, a Rider. He doesn't need another one."

"But he needs Saphira and Aeraleth to breed the next generation of dragons!"

"The dragons, yes." The Shade casually flicked her hand and Murtagh was flung to the ground like a discarded sack of potatoes. "He only needs a single live one. These two are mine."

"You can't do that!" Murtagh shouted, but Spartan had apparently had his fill, because he decided to charge the Shade. Eragon wouldn't simply sit and watch his ally fight it out; he lifted Zar'roc and dashed forwards, intent on smiting the creature across the chest. But Spartan was first and he lashed out with a series of flashing punches. The Shade dodged the first two strikes and grabbed a hold of his fist as he tried to go for a third. She tried to pull some complicated arm-lock, but the Spartan broke free of her grip and smashed her elbow-joint. Driven by the sudden opening in the fight, Eragon attempted to slash through the linked set of armour that covered her chest. But she somehow managed not only to twist away and dodge his attack, but also backhand him as he went.

Eragon staggered backwards when he got hit. Even with his wards, even with his enhanced physiology, his vision turned white with spots and his body tumbled to the ground. His entire face felt like an urgal had stomped on it and when he shakily brought his face to his hand, it came away wet.

And then the pain hit him. It had taken his body a second to acknowledge the hit, but when it did he couldn't even move. Lances of agony were shooting down from his head and he screamed, clutching at his face. He still couldn't see and he knew that he would die here and now if he didn't act.

'_Eragon!´_ Saphira shouted in his mind, jumping into the fray without regard for her own safety.

He cried out for help with the rational part of his mind and helped Saphira stabilize the magic that he needed. He felt a heavy hand clasp around his wrist and pull him back and when the noise of metal striking metal sounded, Eragon knew that someone was covering him.

`Wei…weisa heil," he muttered, directing the flow of energy to his face and healing whatever damage had been done. When he could see again, he saw that Murtagh and the Spartan were both striking at the Shade without holding back, unleashing a lightning-fast combo of blows that only seemed to serve to force the Shade back a few feet. But Murtagh, Rider as was now, still possessed a normal human body. Spartan's attacks were many times faster and landed with much heavier blows, even though the Shade blocked or redirected them with a purple Rider's sword.

Eragon frowned when he closed in on the fighting warriors again. Where had that creature gotten the sword of a Rider? Was it so important to Galbatorix that he had granted it the sword of his treasures?

Spartan kicked at the Shade, but she blocked his attack and slammed the hilt of her blade into his face. Murtagh created a thin lance of energy that shot towards her head, but she blocked it with a shimmery shield that originated from her palm. Then she retaliated to Murtagh by slashing at his face with her clawed arm, but the Spartan tackled her to the ground and pinned her with his weight. When the soldier jabbed at her face, she grabbed a hold of his fist and prevented it from smashing her head in. Then Thorn got himself involved and unleashed a boiling torrent of fire towards the two. Murtagh shouted something and the Spartan managed to hold the Shade down long enough for the flames to reach them. He then jumped out of the way, his armour shimmering with yellow-orange patterns that seemed to jump across his limbs. Eragon didn't see what happened next, but a Lethrblaka swept down and smashed Thorn across the face to stop him from frying the area, before flying off again.

Murtagh swore loudly and kicked at his fallen helmet. "That accursed woman! Damn it all!"

"Murtagh, control yourself," replied Spartan. "If you are under Galbatorix's control, we need to restrain you."

"No!" spat Murtagh. "You will not lay a finger on me, demon! I know what you are. I know what you will do! Even if she is a vile abomination, the Mistress still speaks the truth!"

Spartan stared at Murtagh for a few seconds before he looked up, at the air. "I'm going after her. Eragon, clean this up."

The Spartan then marched away, heading towards the battlefield where the thousands of soldiers were still clashing together.

"Murtagh, you are my closest friend," Eragon said as he watched Thorn leer at the leaving Spartan with clearly visible hate and fear. "You can try to escape from Galbatorix. I am sure that Arya and I can find a way to destroy the bonds that he has laid upon you. Come with me...together, we could do so much more. With us, you would be praised and admired, not cursed and feared." In a softer voice, he added: "Nobody knows you are Morzan's son except for Nasuada and Ajihad. And they would both welcome you."

"I cannot. _She _would hunt me down…hunt us _both_ down. Eragon, you don't know what you have gotten yourself involved in. You do not know what is hanging above us all."

"Murtagh, listen to me. This is your chance for freedom. You may hunt down the Twins and capture them. You may fight against Galbatorix's every decision to show how much you hate and spite him. You may finally have the friends you wanted during your _entire life_. If you go with me, you can be free."

Murtagh didn't take his expression of off Spartan, but when he replied his voice was filled with doubt and hesitations. "He knows our true names. Thorn and I are trapped at his will. But with you un Uru'baen, we can fight him together."

"But it will not make us safe. You heard that…that Shade. She would defy the king just to get us. We are not safe…but we have the power of the Starborn warriors on our side."

"Eragon...I see the elves changed you."

"Yes…they did. But that is not important."

"It is. Oh it is. They changed who you are –they changed the very essence of what made you…you." He paused. "Can they do that to me?"

"It was a rare event that-"

"No, not the appearance! I don´t care much for pointy ears." Murtagh laughed shortly. "No, if they can change who you are physically…can they change one's true name? Can something like that happen?"

"Your true name changes whenever you do. It could be done…I know it can."

Murtagh sighed again, looking over his shoulder at his dragon. "I hate them. I hate the Mistress, I hate Galbatorix, I hate his troops…I would want nothing more than to murder them all. But as long as I remain bonded to his will, I am a threat."

"I know Spartan can help. He can help you and Thorn remain under control while we find a way to safe you. Trust me, we can make this work."

"You just don't get it, do you? I trust you…I trust you more than anyone, Eragon. But I do not trust the Spartan. You mustn't trust him either; you don't know what he will do. What he is capable of. Not even Galbatorix will cause as much harm to the Varden as he will."

"What are you talking about?"

"Eragon, he is going to kill you all."

"What?"

* * *

With the fight between Aeraleth and the three Lethrblaka still taking all of his bonded partners concentration, Maine had no choice but to completely cut off everything that was going in in his mind and focus on killing the Shade by himself. Their fight had taken them from the ground, where she had proven to be his match in both strength and speed, to the air, where he had managed to jack her ride before she could take off and wreak havoc somewhere else. From the back of her current Lethrblaka she had fought him off long enough to reach Eragon, after which she had used magic to force the both of them to vacate the back of her mount. His landing had been less than efficient.

"I'm going after her. Eragon, clean this up." Without waiting to see what Eragon would do, the Spartan marched off. The enemy Rider had revealed himself as Murtagh, a past ally. He should have seen it coming, really. A lack of body usually meant trouble. But Murtagh was not the biggest threat right now; Eragon could talk him into standing down or, failing that, fight him on equal grounds and win. No, it was not the presence of an enemy Rider that unsettled him.

It was the presence of someone who had outmatched him in a frontal fight. It was surreal. A Brute could overpower him and an Elite might throw him off during a fight, but never before had he encountered an enemy who was more than his equal on every turn. This Shade was nothing like Raia or Daenlith in regards to strength and speed; she was so much faster than them and, Maine had to admit, faster than him. She had caught him off guard at the start if their first battle but he had regarded that as irrelevant for the situation.

But now, as he was assessing the best way to track her down again, Maine was starting to think that it had less to do with him falling into an easily avoidable ambush and more with his foe being virtually undetectable. Not a second went by on the battlefield that he did not actively scan and check his surroundings; it was impossible for anything less than a cloaked Elite to slip by him. Even when they had encountered Eragon and Saphira she had managed to get the drop on them.

And the sky was filled with the Lethrblaka; Aeraleth was facing off against three of them at once and at least five more were harassing the Dwarves as they tried to push back the Imperial line. They all seemed to be under the control of that one woman; if he could kill her, he would destroy the enemy air-support and end this fight.

Taking a deep breath, the Spartan expanded his mental view and searched for discrepancies on the battlefield. He ignored the thousands of humans and focused solely on the bright flare that was the mind of a Shade. Oromis had spoken about how Shades were supposed to feel; as a body filled with Spirits, it would feel like disembodied chorus of screams and lights. A hivemind on a microscopic scale. Raia's mind was nothing like that description though, which made sense. But the other Shade had also felt nothing like a hivemind. So what was going on? Was Oromis wrong, or was this one the same as Raia?

The Lady who had granted her the freedom of will…was this her?

The Spartan located his partner with a flick of his consciousness and turned towards her general direction. She had killed one of the Lethrblaka, leaving only one severely mutilated and one moderately intact monster to deal with. His assault rifle was lost somewhere where the Shade had first knocked him off of Aeraleth, but he had managed to recover his sidearm before she had bolted to head towards Eragon and Murtagh.

Upon making contact with his partner, the full scale of her injuries and wounds washed over him and for a few seconds his body burned with a hot, feverish pain that shot through his limbs and made him feel like he was bleeding from a dozen gashes. He banished it out after that, knowing that it would only impede his mission.

'_Aeraleth, rendezvous.'_

'_I am busy!'_

'_Do it!'_

The noises of violent combat above him ceased as Aeraleth wrenched herself free and dove towards the ground, followed by the intact Lethrblaka. Blood was trailing behind her and she had various holes in her wings, but she looked all the fiercer for it. Her black form was glistering with both her own blood as her enemies' and even as she plummeted towards the ground, her scales reflected the orange rays of sunlight and casted odd spots on the ground.

Maine waited until she was nearly on top of him before he ducked out of the way, careful not to miss the target tailing her. Aeraleth swept right past him, showering the area with droplets of blood that he had to banish from his mind as well. Seconds later, the Lethrblaka impacted on him, where it didn't get any farther.

As the creature dove for him, he sidestepped and reached for the upper side of its beak, elbows aimed downwards. He then slammed his knee upwards while pulling the beak down, shattering its jaw to pieces.

The flyer reared backwards and uttered a painfully loud screech, blood and pieces of bone falling to the ground. Maine didn't stop there; he jumped for the closest leathery wing and clipped it with its weight. Before the creature could collapse onto its now destroyed wing, the Spartan jumped for its head and kicked it in the shattered region of its man-sized beak, breaking through the though material with ease. He then buried his knife up to the hilt into the monster's eye, penetrating its brain.

The Lethrblaka collapsed to the ground and the Spartan jumped off, rolling over the ground while the large body impacted.

He only had a brief moment to assess the full scale of his partner's injuries before he spotted a contact on his motion tracker, which was odd because he was far away enough from the major battle to be free of contacts.

He spun around, his pistol at the ready. He spotted a dark flash before something impacted on his shields, draining them back to fifty percent. He reached out behind him and managed to grab hold of a slender limb, increasing his grip to pulverize the bone. But before he could turn around completely and face his attacker, something slammed into his head and knocked him backwards. He was forced to let go of the enemy to conserve his balance.

Ignoring Aeraleth's exhaustion and pain as it washed over him again, Maine raised both of his hands in preparation for a new fight. The Shade was standing in front of him again, as if mocking him with her very appearance.

She flashed him a thin smile and he checked his shields, hoping that she hadn't just pounded them flat with just two punches, which only a Hunter is capable of.

Not flat: twenty percent left…which placed her strength at the same level of a berserking Brute.

"What are you?" he asked, hoping to gain time for his shields to recover.

"I might ask the same thing," she replied, taking a small step towards him. He immediately opened fire with his pistol, but she moved like water flowing around a rock and dodged the projectile. More shots rang out and she weaved past those too, closing in on him within seconds.

New adrenaline flowed through his system as he snapped out with his leg, enough force behind it to crush the skull of an unshielded Elite. The Shade ducked underneath his attack and lashed out with an open palm-thrust at his chest, knocking him backwards with the blow.

Maine staggered briefly before whipping his arm out and flipping his legs over his head, just in time to dodge a follow-up blow. He then retaliated with a series of quick punches, testing her defenses and knowledge of blocking. She easily kept up with his pace, stepping back and to the side to avoid his direct jabs and pushing his arms away when he tried to circumvent her movement.

Only when he switched to an uppercut did he manage to catch her off guard. He watched her body get lifted off its feet and sail through the air, but something was off. He hadn´t nearly hit her hard enough for her to get launched like that; her head should have snapped back with enough force to break her neck, yes, but not to send her flying.

Only then did he realize that his enemy had simply pretended to be hit, even performing a backwards cartwheel to recover from the maneuver.

He grunted in annoyance and jumped after her, switching to a more aggressive style. The Shade smiled again and, with a dress that reached to her feet nonetheless, met his attacks head-on. She moved her arms at the same time he did, blocking his MJOLNIR-enhanced strikes with her own barely-armoured hands. She punched him in his chest in rapid succession and then kneed him in his stomach, before pushing his head away and sending him tumbling.

He recovered by repositioning his leg, brought his hand back and then punched the woman with the momentum he still had. Her eyes widened at his sudden recovery, but she managed to bring her own arms up fast enough to catch his fist. The impact broke a few of her fingers and knocked her own hands into her face hard enough to daze her, but she seemed to move on instinct and kept a hold on his fist, whipping his arm to the side and creating an opening at his side.

Which, of course, she took. In one second, she kicked him three times in his side and then grabbed him by his throat with her right arm.

In direct contrast to most enemies that favored strangling, this Shade kept her arm lightly bowed, meaning that he couldn't just shatter her joint with one good strike.

His legs didn't leave the ground, but the woman still forced him backwards, keeping a very tight grip on his throat. Even through his armour he could feel the unyielding constriction, which would have crushed his larynx were it not for his MJOLNIR.

Maine grunted and attempted to make his own right arm connect with her chin. When she leaned her head back to avoid the strike, he brought his arm over to the hand that had him by his throat instead and dug his thumb into the region between her index finger and thumb. Without waiting for her to recover from his feint, he wrapped his gauntlet completely around her hand and crushed the tissue between her fingers.

She hissed and pulled her hand back, allowing him to breathe again. That advantage didn't last long though; he wanted to force the Shade on the defensive, but she spun around him faster than he could aim his weapon at her and grabbed him by the back of his head, pulling him down.

Instead of allowing her to bare his throat again, where she could slip through the seal that protected him with her Rider's sword, he decided to follow the direction of her movement and let his weight do the rest. Instead of meeting his resistance, which she had clearly hoped for, he rolled over his back and escaped her grip. He pulled the trigger as soon as he spotted an opening and, knowing that he could not score a headshot as long as she kept on the move, nailed her in her left knee.

Shades had the annoying tendency to regenerate within seconds and this one was no exception. In the time it took him to get back to his feet, his foe had already healed from the crippling injury. There were various holes in her dress, her ribbed armour was scratched and dented in various places and one of the metal claws at her fingers had been crushed.

She spotted the useless piece of metal too and casually ripped it off, discarding it. Then, observing her fingers with uncanny interest, she decided to end their physical fight and start a new, mental one. The full force of her mind slammed into his consciousness and he only barely managed to straighten out his thoughts in time. He had a very hard time concentrating though, as his frustration at the futility of his struggle was turning to aggression. He didn't want to fight using his mind; he wanted to tear her apart with his hands.

But he couldn't get close. He had to divert all of his attention to his mental defenses; even the simple act of moving through subconscious deeds would distract him. His suit was directed by his thoughts and even the most stray order could get him distracted.

"I had expected something more threatening," spoke the Shade. Her red eyes gleamed with malice and she had a row of sharp teeth where normal human teeth would be. Her face was so strikingly similar to that of an elf, including the high jawbones and slanted eyes that he couldn't help but be reminded of Arya and Daenlith. Maine wanted to go on the offensive again, but the probe multiplied in number and magnitude, forcing him to hide himself deeper behind his defenses. Her mental prowess was unmatched; not even Raia or Oromis could hope to amass the same force and penetration. He had never before had to defend his mind from an entity like this.

Maine grunted as the pain on his mind increased and he tried to think of a way to escape this torturous experience. If he used magic, the fallout might harm him too. He had to risk it –he had to risk distracting her.

"The king fears you. He wishes for your end. I? Not so much."

He spotted another Lethrblaka landing next to the Shade, then another one. The moment they distracted his attempts of mental defense, he felt the probes slip in deeper. He was starting to feel the now-familiar experience of memory flashes.

The elf-Shade clasped her hands behind her back and walked closer to him, bowing her head as if she were inclining him. Yet her eyes never left his head. "You see…when I heard of the tales of the Soothsayer, I was skeptical at first."

The Soothsayer?

"But an object approaching from the stars, bringing about the destruction of Alagaesia? How could I not be intrigued?"

"What are you talking about?" He snapped. "What object?' Did she mean the Destroyer in orbit? Or was she talking about something Forerunner?

Her smile grew bigger and she narrowed her eyes. The pressure on his mind increased even as she stepped towards him, stopping only when she was standing just a foot away from him. "Of course you don't know," she said with a teasing tone. "Of course Islanzadí didn't tell you. My kin were never keen on sharing their ancient secrets."

He lunged towards her with his elbow, but she stepped to the side and pulled him to the ground. The assault on his mind was not abating and he could only move with the utmost concentration and precision, which took longer than his normal movements. If he wanted to get her, he would have to catch her off-guard completely.

"Tut-tut," she said, mocking him. "Too aggressive for your own good."

She lifted her foot and tried to stomp on his head, but he swept her leg to the side with the edge of his hand and pulled her to the ground. Then he tried to wrestle her to the ground, but she had fallen on top of him and her movements were faster than his. She braced herself with one arm, slapped him across his helmet with the other and pinned him to the ground with her knee.

"You're a Shade now," he bit at her, seeking to hurt her mentally so that he might go on the offensive himself. "An abomination. You're not even a species; just a husk filled with parasites."

"Don't let Raia hear you. She might grow disillusioned with you," the creature on top of him replied, her voice soft and chilling. "Is she a husk? An abomination? More than you are?"

He managed to get one of his arms free and he battered her aside. "That's not important."

The Shade landed on all fours and laughed at him, her long red hair hanging in front of her face like a ragged curtain. "No? Then hear me, _Spartan_, because I know what you are."

He felt something cold over his spine when she spoke his name like that. She had to be bluffing; she had to be seeking to destabilize him. Psychological warfare.

"Brisingr!"

A trickle of energy became a steady stream as something started blocking his output. Instead of seeing his foe burn to death, he was starting to lose more energy than he was willing to give. She had to be denying him his magic, fighting his will with her own. That meant this would either be a direct contest of energy, or accepting magic as a no-go.

"The world speaks your name, your body whispers your traits. You can not hide from my gaze."

He cursed and reached for his pistol, only to find that it wasn't there anymore. Every single damn time he needed to shoot something!

"Looking for this?" the woman said with a nasty grin, brandishing his sidearm. "A formidable weapon, for sure. I wonder who wields which?"

She slowly drew a slender finger across the trigger, as if electing some sensual reaction. Then she aimed it at him and he automatically burst into motion. Mental warfare be damned, he wasn't going to stand by and let her shoot him.

The Shade opened fire and Maine could almost hear the rounds trail behind him as he dodged the various shots, jumping closer to the bearer of his weapon with every step. She didn't have a lot of ammo, even though she didn't know that.

"Rïsa!" she then commanded and he felt his body slow down marginally. It didn't last very long and the attack on his mind subsided somewhat. But it was enough for her to fire off two last shots before her mag ran out, both of which impacted on his chest and flattened themselves against the tough but unshielded plates of his MJOLNIR.

She pulled the trigger three times more, before discarding his weapon. Then the magic holding him faded and he was capable of attacking on his own. With his gauntlet extended like a claw, he slashed across her chest and rent the ripped plates in half. The metal felt tough, but he still managed to crush through them with one fell swipe.

The Shade cried out in alarm and jumped backwards, clutching the ruined pieces of armour that covered her torso. When she looked back at him, her eyes were serious and angry. Two more Lethrblaka landed next to her, bringing the total of idle creatures to four. Where was Aeraleth? "Very well, Spartan. I can hear your mind crying out for blood –blood that your dragon has already shed."

The probes that were digging into his mind increased in magnitude and he clenched his teeth as they pierced through his defenses. He absolutely refused to lose to this woman.

"And I am certain that it is blood you will find. Galbatorix, the Varden, the elves…"

"Yours," he growled.

"Perhaps. But only when this land is barren and burnt like these fields. This will be the start of your inheritance; the start of your destiny. To burn across the world."

Maine wanted to reply, but the Shade had just succeeded in cracking his defenses and it was all he could do to prevent her from rummaging around in his memories. He could see the Lethrblaka edging closer, carefully and subtly.

"I wonder how it must feel…for your destiny in life to be the bringer of death. To bring about the destruction of these so-called intelligent races. Can you feel it, Spartan? Can you feel it, _Maine_? This is what you were made for. Burn this world."

The four Lethrblaka all screeched at the same time, producing a deafening orchestra of vibrations. They pounced at him, their beaks wide open and their wings extended to make them appear even more menacing than they were.

"Bring your hatred from the Stars."

Two of the monsters were faster than the other two. They crashed into his body and sent him sprawling to the ground, the two dragon-sized creatures trying to crack through his armour with their beaks. He punched and kicked around him, carving and tearing holes in the black fabric of reeking death that was being pulled up around him. He shattered the upper portion of a jaw and he tore himself through the inner membrane of a wing. A giant leg pinned him to the ground, scratching his armour, but he slammed both of his hands into the bone from opposite directions, shattering the leg and sending a jagged spike of bone through the flesh.

A beak clipped him at his side just as he got back on his feet and he stumbled forwards. Another beak went for him, but he protected himself with his arms and pinned the creature to the ground. From the corner of his eye he saw the fourth one gliding towards him, its beak closed and its eyes glowing with hunger.

Then, a fifth shadow tore through the sky. It shined brighter than any creature could and when it slammed into the attacking Lethrblaka, it covered the ground with the monster's blood. Only then did Maine realize that it was in fact Aeraleth, who had somehow managed not only to break through the thick concentration of aerial hostiles, but to get herself involved in his fight as well.

He gestured at her with one hand, hoping to gain her attention without subjecting himself to further mental attacks, but she wasn't paying a lot of attention to him. It seemed that violently ripping apart a Lethrblaka was more important than watching out for the Shade on the ground and while he could easily understand the general idea behind that, he also knew that she would make a lethal mistake in doing so.

The temporary distraction in the form of Aeraleth proved to be a lethal mistake for _him _though; the Shade finally managed to slip through his defenses and the memory flashes were getting worse. Even as Aeraleth crashed to the ground with her mutilated victim, Maine felt the Shade rummage into his mind and attempt to search for his weaknesses.

Frantically trying to stop her from delving into military secrets, he recalled the memory that lay the closest to the surface. Unfortunately, that was also the memory that had been plaguing him since he had gone through the events. It was the only way to stop her for the moment, but he didn't want to play on that particular one. Anything would do in this moment, just not that particular one.

But once summoned, he couldn't block it out again. It was as if he was falling down a slope where he was frantically grabbing things to hold on, only to slam his hand into a jagged spike that was protruding from the floor. And this might do worse than tear his hand in half.

Maine grunted again and dropped to one knee as the Shade forced her way into his mind. He felt Aeraleth attempt to meld her mind with his, but that was the one thing he couldn't allow. She could find out about anything –anything at all, including his Augmentations and his childhood- just not this. But it was nigh-impossible to get her out now and even as he frantically tried to banish her, the Shade increased her efforts and drove him deeper into his own mind. There was no stopping it; it happened like a flood, equally destructive and merciless.

_He was walking through a small village, where a community of just a hundred or so people had made their home. His target was an Insurrectionist leader, holed up in one of the larger buildings. If was of vital importance to capture him, as he had committed crimes of war using chemical and biological tactics. The man would bolt of the UNSC launched a full-scale attack and because his ship had been the closest, he had been sent. The village looked quiet enough though-_

The Spartan managed to break both of the minds that were trying to attach themselves to his and he made a beeline for the elf-Shade, determined to rip her head off for making him relive that memory. But she was too fast for him and while he was distracted with her, another Lethrblaka lunged for him.

_There were a few civilians walking around, but they were all too busy to notice him. He was without his MJOLNIR and the last thing he wanted was trouble, so he ignored the shopping townsfolk and slowly made his way through the various small roads, until they converged to a larger one. There, the road sloped upwards to a mansion-esque building, where the target was sure to reside. He plucked at his pants, annoyed with how baggy it was. It made him feel out of place. Math-011 was watching him from the surrounding hills though, she he wasn't technically alone._

Aeraleth appeared over him and reared her head backwards. Just as the Shade extended her clawed arm to the both of them, the dragon inhaled through the nostrils and bathed the area in front of them with a blistering torrent of black-orange flames, which caused the internal temperature of his suit to spike.

_A man to the left of him looked up and started staring at him with a suspicious glare. He was starting to feel uncomfortable and he focused on keeping his pace steady and his breathing controlled. He had just reached another area with markets and there were even more people there. Little children, age between six and ten, running around with their parents. Mothers carrying baskets and happy-looking fathers that were bantering with the shopkeepers. More of them looked up as he approached them, with the wide-fitting and baggy clothes that were supposed to make him look like the,._

This was the first time that Aeraleth had breathed fire. Any feeling of proud that Maine might have felt at that moment were drowned out by the rising sense of dread that she would discover his memories. Even as she attempted to chase the effects of the elf-Shade off with her own vast consciousness, she felt his memories leak past the threads that connected his mind to hers. She could feel and view his memories as if they were her own and that caused him more distress than anything ever had. The Lethrblaka screamed and died, but the attack on his mind did not stop.

_More and more people were staring at him and even though he attempted to ignore the most of them, he was frantically thinking of a way to decrease their suspicion. But he was incapable of making Small-talk, he had no money to buy anything with and he didn't know any sideways to cut through. All he could do was keep on moving and hope that these people wouldn't blow his cover. He was painfully aware of the rubbing of his pistols to his thighs and the knife at his back. His clothes were supposed to conceal those, but it was as if everyone could stare straight through his disguise._

Aeraleth roared in victory as the smoking carcass of the bat-creature hit the ground and Maine felt someone grab him from behind, pulling him backwards and throwing him to the ground. The pain and pressure on his mind was too much for him to deal with the physical attack and he had to trust on his suit to protect him.

_Suddenly, one of the children dropped a large piece of glass to the ground and everyone looked up, staring straight at him. Slowly and tediously, a young girl grabbed a box and walked up to him. He looked for a way out, but he couldn't find one. Now that everyone was staring at him and with his cover in danger of being blown, he had no choice but to play along and pretend to buy the kid's stuff. The little girl reached him and, under the watchful eye of virtually everyone in the damned village, he bent through his knees and reached for the box. She was staring at him with strange eyes; wide, glazed over and distant. Was she hungry? Suffering from a disease? But why was everyone acting so happy then?_

Aeraleth swept her tail into him and pushed him away from the Shade, just as she was about to grab him in a chokehold. Then the dragon roared again and unleashed a second stream of coloured flames, burning everything around them in an attempt to chase the Shade off. He was painfully aware of her attention on him and he wished that she would just leave him be –that she would just leave him alone.

_He slowly opened the box and peered inside. But the second he lifted the lid, he heard a metallic 'click' and he kicked the girl in her stomach, sending her and her box crashing into a collection of straw baskets. A second later, the girl and her box were engulfed in an explosion that sent shrapnel and blood everywhere. The people didn't scream in fear or surprise, but in sudden malice and aggression and all of them rounded onto him. Covered in the blood of the girl as he was, the villagers whipped out weapons of all sorts and directly attacked him._

Maine felt the urge to scream and he almost did so. The attack on his mind ceased and the tendrils of a superior consciousness withdrew, but he couldn't stop the memory now. The flames had been set and couldn't be extinguished again.

_Using sickles, scissors and even axes, the mob threw themselves at him like a suicidal wave of flesh. His combat instincts kicked in, though he was aware of every action he took. Children years younger than he was ran up to him with improvised bladed and weapons and he couldn't get past them, as the initial bomber had lodged shrapnel into his left knee and he couldn't jump for the roofs; he had to fight his way out. He pulled out his combat knife and, killing every single emotion, shot the first of the approaching kids in the head. The tiny body tumbled to the ground and inside, he felt something tear at his heart. But he had to continue. Another child was standing at the ready and he had to readjust his aim-_

Maine took a deep breath as he tried to regain control over his malfunctioning mind. He couldn't stop the memories –he couldn't keep them out. He couldn't stop them they just kept coming. Aeraleth was there and she could feel it and they were _still coming_.

_From there, he emptied his clip into the rest of the frenzied crowd. These people had just stopped caring for their lives; women were running at him with pieces of wood, children were carrying bladed weapons and all of their pupils were dilated. He had no choice but to fight his way through. He had no choice but to fight with lethal intent and all who stood in his way were targets of opportunity. Sometimes a shot from outside would ring out and a head would explode, the only evidence of Math's support. He kept firing and killing until his weapons were empty and then he resorted to using every single melee weapon he could get his hands on. A little boy, roughly half his age, jumped at him from a balcony and he immediately spun around and punched away, something breaking underneath his knuckles. More than once he would still doubt and refrain from delivering that one neck-breaking kick to the woman with wrinkles around her nose, or stop himself from stabbing the blonde teen in her face with a crude piece of metal. More often than not those moments of mercy cost him dearly, as a senior he had let live with only a broken leg somehow got her hands on an improvised Molotov cocktail. _

_The flames licked at his limbs and through the fire, burning and screaming bodies were still throwing themselves at him. His knee was hurting with every step he took and the burns across his body were forcing him to scream as well, induced by the blind chaos and madness that the village had descended into. _

Maine staggered back to his feet and he was vaguely aware of an alarm being sounded somewhere. A few dwarves ran past him screaming in glee and in the distance, the soldiers of the Varden were screaming their victory-yell, unaware of his private suffering. Aeraleth had stepped back and assumed a complete spectating role, watching his memories through his mind even as he struggled to force them back.

_Something sharp pierced the tatters of cloth at his back and he stumbled, reaching for the axe that had embedded itself in the muscle next to his spine. He threw the bloodied axe at its owner –the same laughing father he had seen before- and he staggered onwards, nearly reaching the walls of the mansion. He was covered in blood and chemical burns and his legs couldn't keep him going. Something white appeared into his view and for one mad, panic-induced second, he thought it was one of the angels he had been taught about, coming to rescue him from the hell that he had created. But it wasn't an angel of mercy; it was Math-011, cutting down all remaining civilians with his sniper rifle. The Spartan offered him a hand which he took. His friend then kicked down the door to the mansion and propped him up against the wall, injecting two shots of morphine into his system. He then placed an Anti-Personnel mine at the entrance and handed him an SMG._

"_I'll come back for you," Math had whispered. And he had. _

"Get us out of here," muttered Maine, but Aeraleth did not move. She was sitting on the ground, her various wounds still bleeding from her lopsided fight, not moving. "Aeraleth?"

Without making sound, without one single comment or mentally spoken word, she flexed her wings and got to her feet. She turned towards the side of the river and took off. Leaving him alone with his memories.

He didn't care.

* * *

Captain Adrian Wren marched across the blood-stained ground, where the bodies of the many thousands of dead were still lying where they had fallen. The Varden's forces had officially won the battle; the Imperial forces were falling back and the enemy Rider had been captured by Eragon, whatever that meant. Sergeant First Class Wilks and First Lieutenant Mason were marching behind him, with their newest prisoner walking in-between them. This set of bald guys had been casting magic all over the Varden's ranks and seeing as nobody had been bothering to take them out, Wren had helped himself to a little prisoner.

"So who are you people again?"

Of course, this "victory" was relatively short-lived. Not only had he received a very garbled message that Corporal Browning had gotten hurt, but they had also nearly wasted all their ammo during this fight shooting human enemies. And then there was _this _guy. His name was Roran and he claimed to be Eragon's brother. Normally, Wren wouldn't have bothered with the locals. But this Roran-fellow looked like he had the right attitude and he had also served a very useful purpose in distracting the Twins long enough for them to capture them.

"I am Captain Wren, of the United Nations Space Command."

The problem with magicians was that precisely that; they could use magic. And seeing as Wren had wanted to capture at least one of the bastards alive, the hammer-wielding simpleton had come in very handy. While Roran had been jumping back and forth to avoid being set on fire, Wren had managed to sneak up one of the twins and slit his throat. That had destroyed the concentration of the other one, whom Wren know the man had been mind-joined with. The sudden effect of another one's mind dying had been enough to destroy his concentration, to say in the least.

"And that means?"

Wren sighed. "All you need to know is that we're the Empire's enemy."

"That's good enough for me."

The Captain didn't doubt that it was. He had spent hours at an end fighting the massive Imperial army, wasted almost all of his bullets and amassed enough injuries to fell an entire platoon of grunts. All because of the whole "enemy and allies" play.

Behind him, Wilks gave the bald magician a rough shove. "Keep moving."

"Where is Eragon?" asked Roran.

"Last time we spotted that kid, he was messing around with a red dragon," replied Mason.

Right. The red dragon that belonged to the enemy. It still felt so surreal but it was all out there; magic and dragons and even elves and dwarves. This was like he had ever faced before…though he supposed he had thought the very same thing during his first engagement with the Covenant. He would not allow this madness to drag him in though; it had already compromised the Spartan and he was not going to let that happen to him. He was going to stay true to his own people and fight for them, not for a bunch of underdeveloped idiots who longed for war even though it was the worse of two evils.

The Empire had sounded the retreat. Wren had no doubt that they were going to regroup for a second push into Surda, but for the moment they were in the clear. The ground was littered with corpses and as his group made its way through the carnage. Soon they reached the first Varden soldiers –wounded, hollow-eyed men who seemed to stumble around without any purpose, their thousand-yard stare indicative of their shell-shocked minds. It wasn't the first battle of such scale Wren had participated in, but it was the first one where he had been forced to go toe-to-toe with other humans in close quarters. The fact that the enemy hadn't been carrying firearms or hadn't been trained in martial arts didn't make it easier to kill them though. After having spent so many years fighting for each human life he could save, these deaths sickened him.

They first reached Second Lieutenant Riley's group. They were battered, wounded and exhausted, but all of them were accustomed for. It had been her task to outflank the Imperial army and search for enemy officers to neutralize, while Wren's group would search for the main commanding officer. They hadn't found any Imperial leader though; only the set of twins and the people from the boat that had marooned in the river, carrying the fleeing civilians from a doomed hometown.

"Sir," snapped Riley, saluting as he stepped up to her.

"At ease Lieutenant," he said. "We'll regroup at the main encampment with Bryce's group."

"Sir," said Mason, "did you by any chance reactivate your IFF tag?"

"No," he replied. He had deactivated the identification software just in case, to prevent others from somehow tracking him down or identifying him.

"I think you should."

"Explain yourself."

"The _When Duty Ends_ doesn't have that much air or supplies. We were already running on a skeleton crew. It's unlikely they would wait months for us to contact them."

"And without an active IFF Officer tag, they wouldn't find us."

"Exactly. And there is every possibility that we've got people in the air, searching for us."

Captain Wren nodded, understanding what the First Lieutenant was trying to say. If there was anyone piloting a Longsword or a Pelican Dropship, they wouldn't be able to locate them. But if he activated his IFF tag, any and all UNSC personnel leaving the Destroyer would be able to locate him in a few hours. The thought had crossed his mind on multiple occasions, but there was just one big problem. "It's broken. Took a Sentinel-blast near that forest. I couldn't fix it."

"Damn. Guess it's back to the old plan then?"

"Yeah," replied Wren. They angled towards the Varden's second camp, which had definitely served its use. He saw a blue and red dragon hunched over, roughly a dozen meters apart from each other. Two human-sized people were resting closer to each other, with about half a dozen meters distance between them. Wren immediately recognized the red dragon as hostile, but since the blue dragon belonged to Eragon and wasn't directly fighting it, the rules had probably changed again.

The Captain still ordered his team to assume a loose circle position and click their safeties off just in case. He wasn't going to let anyone die on him today. He had promised his crew that they were all getting out of this alive.

Roran didn't stop though, neither did Wren stop him. The guy marched straight up to Eragon, stared at him for a second and then punched him in his elfish face. Only when the dragons didn't react did Wren give the signal for the marines to keep walking. He overheard a small section of the brothers' conversation, leading him to conclude that that it was in fact the Empire that had destroyed the boys' hometown and that somehow, Roran seemed to blame Eragon for it. It was all very vague and Wren didn't really care about the two of them. What he cared for was why the red Rider had emerged from the Empire's forces only to reminiscence with the Varden's. He wanted to know why all the flying bat-monsters that had suddenly appeared had disappeared equally as suddenly and he wanted to know where their Spartan had gone to.

Staff Sergeant Bryce contacted him by the time they were traversing the outer perimeter defenses. "_Captain Wren, sir?"_

"I hear you, go ahead Sergeant."

"_Nasuada and her commanders are orchestrating a regroup near her pavilion. I think you should be there too."_

"We just entered the perimeter. Casualties?"

"_Hudson's wounded, but he'll live. Browning is KIA."_

Wren must not have heard that right. "Come again? Browning is MIA?"

"_No sir, KIA. A Shade nailed him in the back."_

A hollow feeling spread itself through his chest and he felt his hands clenching into fists. "Copy that." He made a mental not to add Lance Corporal Browning to the KIA roster and kept moving, grinding his jaws together in helpless frustration. He had made a promise; he had made a promise that he wouldn't lose anyone down here. This was supposed to be a simple scouting operation until their ship could get towed away by a UNSC rescue party. But he should have known; he should have known that nothing with the Forerunners was ever simple. Stuck on some inferior backwater planet for weeks at an end, threatened by an Imperialistic nation…this was not what was supposed to happen.

They reached the position where Staff Sergeant Bryce and Corporal Hudson had holed up. The ground around them was scorched, slick with blood and covered with bodies, Empire and Varden alike. Hudson was sitting on a shattered piece of wood, while Bryce was standing watch. The dozens of troops who were also regrouping inside of the camp gave them a wide berth, as they well should.

"Captain Wren sir!" the Sergeant Saluted and Wren returned the gesture.

"As you were."

He looked down and saw Browning lying on the ground, his arms hanging weakly besides his body and his armour smeared with blood. His eyes had been closed, the eyelids left with traces of blood from a bloodied finger. He was already starting to become pale like a corpse. "Did you get the one responsible?"

"No sir. Someone else did."

"Who?"

The Sergeant shrugged. "Another Shade, sir. The same one as in the castle."

Hudson was being awfully quiet. "And the Corporal?"

"He received…rudimentary medical care, but he took a heavy blow to his throat. I think talking isn't viable for him now."

Someone had finally found a way to shut Hudson up and Wren was not laughing. "Find something to cover his body and get some rest."

"Sir?" Bryce appeared confused. "We're not burying him, sir?"

"No Sergeant. He wanted to see Earth…burying him will be fitting." He couldn't bear saying that the young marine had given his life for Earth; this fight had completely zero to do with protecting humanity or serving the colonies. This wasn't even their fight. Their fight was for the Forerunner technology that would undoubtedly be hidden somewhere in this land.

"What should we do with his body in the meantime, sir? We won't be getting to earth anytime soon, are we?"

"I'll get Spartan to repair my command IFF. After that, extraction will be hours away. We'll place his body in Cryo."

"Yes sir."

The Captain glanced at Hudson one more time, took notice of the way his shoulders sagged and the way he had donned his helmet to prevent anyone from seeing face, before moving on to the command tent. He was going to have a hearty word with the lady regarding Intel and the proper distribution of it. Nobody had warned him that a monstrous enemy like a Shade would be running amok in the middle of their forces and neither had anyone warned them that they would be swarmed with enormous bats. He supposed that he should have expected such things now, but they were very obvious threats that were very obviously left unmentioned.

He donned his own helmet, a modified ODST helmet, before rounding the corner and approaching the pavilion. There were only a few guards, all of whom ignored Wren as he and First Lieutenant Mason stepped inside. Nasuada was sitting on a table, having a heated discussion with the ambassador Arya while letting a maid remove her armour. She stopped in the middle of her sentence as Wren stepped inside, getting up from the table and assuming a more professional demeanor. Arya merely stared at him.

"Nasuada," he gruffly said as he marched inside.

"Captain Wren?"

He didn't verify her question, instead choosing to join her in the middle of the pavilion. He turned to look at the elf from behind his visor, before crossing his arms and staring at the dark-skinned woman instead.

"Where is Spartan?"

"Otherwise occupied," he replied, thinking about how he was going to formulate his thoughts. He had to be careful not to give voice to the very clear anger that he was feeling now. "You didn't mention enemy air-support during the debriefing."

"Yes, the Lethrblaka. Arya explained what they were. Their appearance was not accounted for."

"And the dragon? The Shade?"

"We also did not expect to see an enemy dragon here, Captain. And what Shade?"

"The one who was responsible for the death of one of my men."

Arya bowed her head lower and Nasuada sighed. "You have my condolences."

"I don't need condolences. What I need, is a drastic change in this conflict."

Nasuada's expression turned dark and the raised her head, glaring at him with a suspicious expression. "What do you mean?"

Wren removed his helmet and set it down on the table, before starting to remove his IFF tag. He gestured with his hand to Mason, who got the message in an instance.

"Ever heard of the art of war?" asked the Lieutenant.

"The art of war? Are you seriously declaring war of all things to be an art?" said Nasuada, her expression turning to anger and disbelief.

"It is. General Sun Tzu was the first one who understood. And like every art, it needs to be honed and perfected. One must excel in the art of war to prevail in combat."

"You only fight when you know you can win," added Wren. "You take the fight to the enemy, you ambush them, you surround them and you use tactics to your advantage." He spotted a reflection in the visor of his helmet and he narrowed his eyes. "Wouldn't you agree, Sierra?"

Secret-Spartan 007 stepped inside of the pavilion, his armour covered in blood and rich with dents and scratches that the Captain had not seen before. "Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven reporting for duty."

Of course there wasn't a straight answer. "You see, lady Nasuada," he continued, gently removing the IFF with his combat knife, "there was a distinct lack of actual warfare today. We did not control the flow of combat and because of that, we lost good men and women who would not have died otherwise."

"In war, people die. Such is life," said the elf.

"But there is a difference between a life wasted and a life spent. The death of Lance Corporal Browning, for example, was avoidable," remarked Mason. "Though I doubt you understand that concept."

That last part had been aimed at the ambassador. It was a bold move, but Wren didn't care for political correctness right now. Before anyone could reply to that challenging remark, he handed the IFF to the Spartan and said, "I don't intent on staying in more useless bloodbaths like this. Once this is repaired-"

"You would abandon the Varden?" sneered Nasuada. "You promised us your support, Captain. Are you cowering out because you lost one man? Out of a group of nine? Does your honor mean that little?"

The Spartan gently grabbed his IFF tag and lowered his arm again. Wren closed his eyes, remembering the glassed ruin that was Reach. The billions of people who died there. When he opened his eyes again, his anger had made way for what he did best; choosing the best for the good of mankind. "If you think a massive battle ending in a bloody stalemate counts as a victory, my lady, you clearly lack the vision required to lead an army. Honor has no place in war. I said things are going change."

"If fighting is sure to result in victory, you must fight," said Mason. "If fighting is not sure to result in victory, you must not fight."

"I plan ending this war with supreme excellence. And, when that fails, a coupé de grace."

"And how, may I ask, do you plan on doing that?" asked Nasuada. "If you could not win on your own without the help of the Varden, how do you plan on doing it now?"

"Get that IFF repaired," Wren told the Spartan. Then he turned to the two women, with his hands clasped behind his back. "Once I get my people down here, I am going to change the course of the war." With that, he left the pavilion. He was sick and tired of having to kill other human beings simply because of a dagger-scheme of politics to get his Spartan back. It was time to take full control of the situation and win as many assets for the UNSC as possible. He was going to tear apart the Empire and he would do it as brutally and quickly as the Covenant would take over a human settlement. For once, the stakes were reverted. For once, they had the superior position.

"Sir," said a gravelly from behind him, "your IFF tag."

"Thanks. Sierra? Where are you going?"

The Spartan had been about to leave again, which was odd considering their current situation.

"I lost something out there."

"We'll get you new gear when our forces rendezvous with us. For now, I need you to stay here and-"

"Negative sir. "

Wren froze, the recently repaired IFF still clutched in his left hand. "Come again?"

"There's something important I must do, sir. That holds my priority above all."

The Captain was about to order the Spartan to fall the hell in line when Mason interfered. "Sir, we can't do anything for the moment. We should wait for reinforcements and plan our next move."

The Spartan didn't have the patience to wait for them; while Mason was busy talking, he turned around and left. Wren did not possess the patience to call him back and instead focused on reinstalling his IFF tag.

"This all had better be worth it," said the Lieutenant, now staring at the Spartan with a stern expression.

"This world has a lot to offer. The Empire is going to end…and I feel like the Varden won't be around very long either. But…first things first. I want you to prep the gear and take our prisoner somewhere…safe. I've got a few questions to ask him."

"What about his magic?"

Wren took a deep breath and looked at the IFF again. "I thought ONI had certain ways to suppress the capacities of the mind?"

Mason pushed his glasses up. "We do. I'm just not sure it will work with the things we've seen."

"Trust me. It will."


	25. Reunion

Secret-Spartan zero-zero-seven slowly made his way through the war-camp, wandering without a purpose for the very first time in his life. He considered that odd, because he usually spent every second with a very clear goal in his mind.

There were dead and dying soldiers everywhere. Thousands of corpses were scattered across the battlefield, bloodied and broken and ready to be burned on a pile. The river had run red with blood and the screams of the suffering were calling out to him from every direction. But he didn't care for that –there really wasn't anything going on that could bring him to feel anything that remotely resembled care.

He took a deep breath and stepped over the mangled corpse of an Imperial soldier. His fight with that elf-Shade had taken a surprising amount of energy out of him and his chest hurt with every breath he took. She had managed to pummel him with the strength of a Hunter, all the while moving with the same unrivaled fluency of a Spartan.

It didn't make sense. It did not make any sense. How could that thing have been so lethal? It was like he had been fighting a Spartan-II in the field, as those were the only soldiers capable of outmatching him. Who had made her? Had she made herself? Was she Raia's mistress? Those things he cared about; those things were important. Because he had lost to her –he had _lost _to that woman. For the first time he had completely failed to take down an opponent in combat and because of that, he had gotten hurt.

And he hadn't been the only one who had gotten hurt. He had not been alone in the fight –there had been someone else. That someone had gotten hurt too, just as she had hurt him.

But why had she left? Why would she leave him alone right when he needed her the most? That didn't make sense. Nothing made sense anymore. Where was the Covenant? Where were the Insurrectionists? Where were the other Spartans?

There was nothing here. There was nobody here. Was he all alone? Again?

He felt someone trying to contact his mind, but he brushed the contact away with a weak flicker of will and kept moving forwards, not even trying to determine where he was going. He was vaguely aware that he was now acting like a shell-shocked marine, stumbling around the battlefield without regard for personal safety, but it didn't do anything to him.

Did he even have a goal? Was he really blindly walking away from the battlefield, or did he know where he was going? He hadn't known where he was going for a long time now. He remembered the war ending…he remembered that humanity was safe in the end. He remembered the Covenant splintering, but it hadn't really been the end of the war. Enemies were still everywhere no matter where he looked. There was no rest for any Spartan, fake or real.

He made his way from the Varden's encampment across the damaged battlefield. That was where the concentration of bodies was the thickest; the enemy's men had all met their demise between the two camps of the Varden, torn to pieces by the other humans. Humans tearing other humans apart. It was funny, because that was exactly the opposite of what he was trying to achieve.

Or at least, what he had been trying to achieve. Now he didn't even know what it was he wanted to achieve anymore.

He kept moving, regardless of the soldiers that were lying at his feet. Normally he would have given the enemy wounded a good curbstomp to make sure they remained down, but he refrained from doing so now. He didn't know why though.

The memories hurt. He had been living in denial for a long time, driving his memories away through compartmentalization. He had stuffed his experiences of that day into a tiny box, locked away within his mind. To be treated with rationalization and clarity, never once lingering on what had truly happened that day. Taking the emotions away. But she –she had destroyed that. She had destroyed the chains he kept wrapped around the memory and that had hurt more than the chemical burns he had received during the actual fighting. It had been his fault…all his fault. If he hadn't been so conspicuous –if he hadn't stood out that much due to his behaviour, he could have avoided that entire encounter. He could have captured the leader without murdering them all. Without murdering the men, the women and the children.

The children. Their glazed expressions had not been much different in death than in life and he didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The way they had all come at him…the way _she _made him relive it. He had lost, twice now. Both times because he hadn't been good enough. Because he had not been good enough as a Spartan.

He marched a mile across the battlefield, stopping for nobody. Most of the soldiers that passed him were with the Varden and those that weren't, he left alone. He didn't know why though. The army of the Varden was busy trying to regroup itself and he didn't get in their way. He was going to the overrun camp, where he felt something important was waiting for him. There were only a few Imperial soldiers left there and when he approached then, they turned tail and ran.

They ran. These grown-up men saw him and fled. He was wearing his armour now. He hadn't been wearing his armour then and they hadn't fled then. They had come at him like a group of Grunts and some of them had been the actual size of grunts.

He stopped in the middle of the camp, glancing around him to make sure that he was secure. A shadow swept over him and he looked up, trying to determine what had cast it. He remembered fighting winged hostiles in the fight, very vividly.

It was a dragon, descending from the black clouds of smoke that had formed from the burning plains. The Spartan felt the urge to open fire on it, but he didn't do it. Something told him to stay his hand and if there was one thing he always wanted to do, it was listening to his instinct.

He glanced at a shattered sword at the ground while something large and heavy landed behind him. The sudden torrents of winds buffeted the ground and moved small pieces of clothes and broken pieces of wood, while he turned around and looked.

´_I should not have left you,'_ said a warm and kind voice in his head.

His reply existed out of a subtle twitch of his thumb, which he knew the dragon spotted. She lowered her head to the point that her great, yellow eyes were at the same level as his red visor and he reached out to touch her jaw with his index finger. He spotted several large, gaping wounds on her side and hind legs and remembered her vicious battle with the several aerial hostiles.

He knew he was supposed to heal her. Did he remember the words needed for the spell? He had healed her before…but what were the words? What would he use to heal her?

'_You should sleep. You have not slept in days,'_ said the voice again. He knew that it was coming from the dragon and it comforted him. It was feminine and worried and so very familiar.

"Why did you go?" he found himself asking.

The dragon averted her gaze. '_I was afraid. You were always the one who lived to protect. But it was the true thought that became unveiled by your own memories that frightened me so much.'_

"True thought?"

Her nostrils widened and a gush of smoke enveloped his helmet. '_It does not matter. I should not have left you. Not now, not ever.'_

He brought his other hand to her head and gently patted her nose. "I don't want you to leave."

'_I won't. I promise.'_

He felt the corners of his mouth curl upwards in a smile and he placed his forehead against the side of her head. He remembered seeing something important that she –Aeraleth- needed to know. "Did you see Murtagh?"

'_I did.'_

"He lived."

'_I am aware of that. And he bonded to a dragon.'_

"But Galbatorix has his true name. This could be a trap."

'_If so, who is the predator and who is prey?'_

Her words about predator and prey loosened another memory in his head and he frowned. "Yes, about that…there's something I should tell you." Actually, now that he came to think about it, he needed to tell other people too. He was still in control of his mind and his feelings, but there was a lingering sense of panic growing in his chest and he knew that he was mentally deteriorating. That had to have been the reason for his defeat at the Shade's hands; his mind wasn't as steeled as it had been before and if he was going to have any change at saving this place, he needed to be sharp. He needed to be a Spartan.

'_What is it?'_

He shook his head and turned back to the main camp of the Varden. Now that the familiar presence of Aeraleth's vast consciousness was pleasantly humming at the back of his mind again, he was able to concentrate again. The full ramifications of what happened the past few minutes, which he hadn't been fully able to grasp, hit him with all the subtlety of a Gravity Hammer. "I need to find someone who is familiar with magic and history."

Aeraleth nervously shook her tail, crushing one of the few intact fences. '_You blocked me out when that creature assaulted you. I could not hear her. What did she tell you? I will tear her into little pieces when we find her!'_

Maine doubted that Aeraleth could do anything to that Shade. He had not been capable of beating her, which meant that no living being in this world could. At least, no single living being.

The truth was that he was very disturbed by what he had heard. Because every single link to his past that he found on this world could spell doom for a _very _large group of living beings and that…that dressed _female_ had told him things that were too specifically named to be a coincidence.

"I need to heal you."

She shook her head in a very human gesture. '_I can manage. Save your energy.´ _His partner then lowered her neck and allowed him to climb on, even though there was no need for her to bow as low. He could have simply jumped onto her; it wouldn't have hurt her.

'_What happened that day? Why did all the cubs attack you like ravenous dogs?'_

He managed to find the mental link he had sealed and tried to formulate his thoughts instead of his words. The first two times he rebounded off of her mind, but the third time he managed to convey his thoughts directly into her consciousness. '_Not now.'_

The dragon snorted. '_That, I understand. Though you must tell me what that pale witch told you.'_

Why was she so interested in something the Shade had told him? She had no way of knowing that the woman had told him anything at all. What was she playing at?

'_Do you remember how the elf lords reacted when I mentioned my origin?'_

'_Their hostility has not been forgotten.'_

'_She told me about destiny. Some sort of prophecy.'_

'_What prophecy?'_

'_She said that I, because I come from the stars, would set fire to this world.'_

A ripple ran through Aeraleth's body and she missed a beat with her wings, automatically decreasing their altitude. '_She speaks lies.'_

'_But,' _he mused, '_the queen knows it. Däthedr knows. They all fear what comes from the stars. And they all fear me.'_

'_You must not think about such trivial things,'_ Aeraleth told him, but her voice didn't sound very convincing.

'_Trivial? We're talking about a prophecy saying I will bring destruction to this world.'_

'_It mentioned the stars, not you.'_

'_What else? The UNSC? You saw them Aeraleth. They just want to get out of here ASAP.'_

She remained silent, which was odd because she always had something to say. But he knew to trust her judgment in this scenario. She was basically all he had left now –his own judgment couldn't even help him now. He could feel it in his own body –the way his limbs occasionally shook, how sudden movements caught his attention and how bright lights started to hurt his eyes. The way he remembered it, he had stumbled around like an idiot in trying to find Aeraleth, whose voice had been calling him to the other camp. He had completely lost it for a moment and that was something that had never happened before, not even when he had been captured by the Insurrectionists. It was the final straw that indicated that his mind would soon snap. It must have been all that mental warfare with the powerful enemies everywhere, or the event in the Forerunner structure. He found himself unable to concentrate for a prolonged period and he couldn't but see flashes of his own memories. It was ripping him apart from the inside out and there wasn't anything he could do except for holding on to Aeraleth's consciousness and hoping to keep his degradation a secret from her.

Back in the camp, the Spartan made sure to visit Murtagh and Eragon first. As alarmed as he was by the implications of what the Shade had told him, there were a few things he needed to be sure of first. He had learned of Murtagh's fate through Aeraleth, who in turn had heard it from Saphira herself. The boy, first kidnapped by the Empire, had been tortured and mentally raped by Galbatorix to become his new Rider. The sheer willpower he displayed simply by being near the Varden without attacking them was impressive. However, it was only a matter of time before the king found out about his new apprentice's betrayal and things would turn to worse from there. So his very first concern was making sure that Murtagh wouldn't rampage and kill most of the Varden's leaders.

Aeraleth didn't agree with that though. '_You need rest now, above all else. Eragon can handle the human.'_

'_Look at him. He barely staying awake –he isn't used to this scale of fighting. He can't fend Murtagh off.'_

'_Arya can. She approaches.'_

With a frown, he gazed around the border of the encampment and saw that it was in fact Arya who was approaching them. He knew how very worried she had been about Eragon's safety. The two Riders had just landed again and not everybody knew that Murtagh didn't mean them any harm. To them, the red dragon was a hostile.

A surge of energy spread through his abdomen and he directed Aeraleth to land next to the two dragons anyway. '_They don't know Murtagh's friendly, they will attack him if they spot him.'_

That got her attention as well. Without saying anything else, the black dragon took him down to the two boys and he jumped off, ignoring the protesting screaming of his muscles.

"Spartan," Murtagh said, his eyes widening with panic. He scrambled backwards to get away from him and his eyes widened. "No, no no no!"

The red dragon growled at the Spartan, but he ignored that. Behind him Aeraleth growled as well, albeit louder and with more ferocity. The smaller dragon looked up in surprise and glared at her, as if determining when to attack.

He shot a sideways glance at the red dragon. Aeraleth was larger and older, but she was also wounded and exhausted after her fight with those flying hostiles. When it came to a fight between the two of them, she might win or she might lose. But she would be wounded that much more and he doubted he would be able to properly heal her then.

'_Stay frosty,'_ he ordered her.

'_What is that supposed to mean?'_

He could have sworn that he had told her that before. '_It means stay alert and out of trouble.'_

'_Fine. But if that hatchling dares grow at you again, I will tear him apart.'_

'_Don't you dare; these are allies with valuable Intel on the king.'_

"Murtagh," Maine told the older of the two boys. It wasn't as much as a greeting as an assessment.

"Spartan, Murtagh is here to help," Eragon quickly said. "And we are here to help him. He's not our enemy!"

The urgency in Eragon's voice hurt him, even as Murtagh's terrified demeanor. It reminded him of how they saw him –as a ruthless killer dedicated to killing and fighting only. As if he was there to only when the situation demanded pain and death. He supposed that the kid was right though; his last visit to a certain village a few years ago could very much verify that. Still, he wished that Eragon didn't look at him like he was about to kill his best friend…he wasn't going to do that. He wasn't…he never wanted to.

And he wanted to say that, too. He wanted to say that he wanted to help Murtagh as well, that he would make Galbatorix and the Shade pay for what had happened to him and that he would personally make sure that the kid was safe.

What came out instead was, "If Galbatorix knows your true name, you are a threat. We need to make sure that changes."

He could see Murtagh's eyes flashing to his dragon, as if seeking comfort in his presence. Arya reached them before anyone could add another remark though and from the looks of it, she had brought Nasuada as well.

"Eragon!" shouted the elf, before throwing herself at the boy and wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a gesture that he recognized as a hug. "You are alright!"

Eragon was blushing. "A-aye...I'm fine…"

"Murtagh," said Nasuada. "It is good to see you again."

"My lady," muttered back Murtagh. "I…did not expect to see you here. You should not _be _here. It is dangerous."

"Dangerous, Murtagh?" said Nasuada with a low voice. "For who?"

"For you, my lady. I know not when my oath compels me to act-"

"Do not test my patience, Murtagh. I know you would never hurt me –no matter what oath Galbatorix has made you force."

The new Rider opened his mouth, perhaps to give some retort, before closing it again.

"I never understood how one's true name could manipulate his entire being," Nasuada then continued. "It is supposed to be the whole embodiment of who you are, yes?"

Arya nodded, letting go of Eragon with a small blush on her cheeks. "Yes, it is. Your true name is representative of your entire being. Whoever knows it, can control your very being."

But that didn't really make sense. A person could change with one impacting event in their life; he had watched kind-hearted and cheerful marines turn into battle-hardened veterans with one battle. If something were to happen to Murtagh, his true name would change and Galbatorix would have to break him all over again. So if something were to happen to change the kid, he would be free.

Though Maine was now so far that he doubted his own logic. He had once thought he could rationalize everything away and he had been wrong with that too. He didn't know when he was wrong or right anymore.

'_Aeraleth?'_ he asked his partner-of-heart, '_Murtagh can change…right? We don't…I don't need to kill him, right?'_

'_No little soldier,'_ she told him with a kind, comforting edge to her tone, '_you will not need to kill him. There is hope for him, as there is hope for you.'_

Once again he was unable to properly convey his gratitude and once again, his partner understood without the need for words.

"So what now?" asked Eragon. "What of the troops? Nasuada, you should be rallying the men."

"I am no fool Eragon, thank you very much. My father has recovered enough to command the men and his appearance has bolstered their resolve even more. There are important things I must speak about with you."

"What about Murtagh though? He can't enter the camp yet –the men will think he is their enemy."

"Will they? Murtagh has done nothing to hurt the Varden thus far. If he is in your company, the men will only relish in his appearance. What if you told them that another Rider has joined our ranks? With the three of you, we have a solid chance at stopping Galbatorix."

Maine really didn't want to convey his doubts about fighting in the war, so he kept his mouth shut. The truth was that he was starting to doubt everything now. That Shade had directly insinuated that he was going to bring about some sort of apocalypse…and while he could simply try to brush it off as psychological warfare, he had no way to be sure anymore. He needed time to think.

"What about Thorn?" asked Murtagh.

'_What's a Thorn?'_

'_It is the name of his dragon.'_

'_Ah.'_

Nasuada looked at Murtagh. "What about him?"

"They saw us arrive from the Empire's ranks. I delayed my approach on the Varden as long as I could, but…they still saw him. They will think he is an enemy and if anyone attacks us, I will be forced to defend myself."

"I see what you mean," replied Nasuada. "I know this will be hard, but I think it will be best if Thorn-"she addressed the dragon now –"that is, you, were to stay behind. The men will need to get used to Murtagh fighting on their side again. We can turn this into a major victory if we act right. Eragon, this will be on you."

Eragon nodded. "I will make sure they accept Murtagh. It should not be difficult, seeing as they fought alongside him during the battle under Farthen Dûr."

"You would do that?" Murtagh asked with shock.

"Of course," replied Eragon. "You are my friend. After everything that's happened, you deserve a place you can call safe."

Maine looked back at the other side of the Burning Plains, where the Empire forces had retreated to regroup, and wondered what was safe. The Shade was out there…and if she was strong enough to beat him…there was no saying what was going to happen next. He needed to find Raia and Daenlith and tell them what had happened. If anyone could help him unravel this mess, it would be them.

Of course, if they still wanted to help him after hearing what the elf-Shade had said.

* * *

Something was different in Eragon since they had last seen each other, before the battle. It was his stride, which was more self-aware than before. It was his gaze, which he kept lower than normal. It was his shoulders, which were sagged. Eragon had lost a great amount of confidence in spite of the reappearance of his best friend and Arya knew why. It took only one look at his haunted eyes to know why.

Despite the Varden's victory, despite Murtagh's survival, he looked depressed. She had known this would happen. This was Eragon's first true battle against other members of his race and he had performed superbly; no hesitation and no weakness, saving many lives for the Varden. But he had killed many fellow-humans and the realization seemed to finally be getting to him. She recognized the shock that was numbing his body now, as she had felt the same thing when she had first taken the life of another being. She had gotten over it, but could Eragon get over it as well?

As the five of them were making their way through the camp back to the pavilion, Arya took notice of an increasing amount of soldiers stopping in the middle of their tasks to stare at them. She didn't know which one of them elected that much attention, but she supposed that it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered now was making sure Murtagh would fit in in order to change his true name. That would not only be a personal victory for Eragon, but also a tactical victory for the Varden.

But she was overjoyed to see that he was alright. She had felt terror when the red Rider had appeared from the Imperial army, ascending to engage Eragon even though the air was already filled with Lethrblaka. It was a deep, terrible feeling that had taken root in her stomach, before proceeding to drive her nauseous. When both Saphira as the "enemy" dragon hadn't reappeared again, even though the UNSC people had, her mind had simply refused to believe that Eragon could have been gone. He simply couldn't have left her, ergo he was still alive.

And he was. Fazed by all the death, destruction and exhaustion, but definitely still alive. And those were all things she could help him with. Though her own fight had in no way been easy, it was still far from the taxing sensation that it must have exerted on Eragon's mind. After all, she was numbed to this carnage. A younger version of her might have hesitated and felt sickened due to this fighting, but after the things Durza had done to her…no more. Perhaps that was why Eragon and Murtagh were so different, even when both of them had just met each other. Eragon just lacked the experience in life that was so important. But he was still so young, by everyone's standards he was still a child. Not by her standards though; she knew that Eragon was more than a child. He was a person, already marked by the sudden stack of burdens onto his shoulders.

"Do you think it wise to leave the three of them alone?" Murtagh asked, breaking the silence. "Thorn is still young, even though Galbatorix forced his growth with magic." There was a hint of disgust at the mad king's actions in his voice, which Arya only found appropriate. A Rider should be disgusted with someone who hurt their bonded partner, immediately before having their vengeance with the blade.

"Saphira won't pull anything."

"Aeraleth is also young," Arya said when she noticed that Spartan wasn't going to reply. "They might find something they have in common."

Still no reply. She knew that Spartan was usually very silent, preferring to let his actions speak for him. But she also knew that he had eased up somewhat recently. His stay in Du Weldenvarden had changed him, even though it was only in a minor way. So why wasn't she seeing those changes now? What had he encountered on the battlefield, if not the same slaughter as always?

"At least Thorn won't feel like an outsider then," Murtagh said with a slight smile. "What of the Shade though? She is nearly as dangerous as Galbatorix is. Where did she go?"

"Gone," the Spartan brusquely said.

"Did you kill her?"

"No."

"Blast it! Do you have any idea what she is going to do if she returns to the Varden, Spartan? The entire order would have gathered to face one like her, why did you let her escape!"

"Why don't you go chase her then?"

His sudden desperation and accusing manner surprised Arya, as did the Spartan's equally sudden ferocity. Something had definitely happened on that battlefield, though she did not know what. And what Shade were they even talking about? Had Raia gone rogue, or was this a new one? "What are you two talking about? What Shade?"

Murtagh and Eragon stared at each for a moment, hesitation clearly visible in their demeanor. Arya narrowed her eyes and stopped at the entrance of a smaller tent, roughly ten meters distance from the white pavilion where they were needed.

"What happened out there?" she demanded. "Spartan, what did you fight?"

"It was _her_," said Murtagh, as if that was supposed to make sense.

"_Who_?"

"It was a Shade," added Eragon, "though not like Durza…and also not like Raia. She had pointed ears and she was far more powerful than Durza-"

"Fool," she hissed at Eragon, a completely new feeling of terror gripping at her. "Of course she was stronger than Durza! He was _human _when he turned! What did she look like, how did she act?"

"She is the Mistress," said Murtagh, the extreme level of fear and awe in his voice taking her aback. "More magnificent than the elven queen…more monstrous than the vile Lethrblaka. She can do things that the elves can only dream of and she does them without merit."

"Who is she?" she exclaimed, her voice ringing out louder than in a long time. This couldn't be true –this wasn't true. Galbatorix had _not _created an elf-Shade –such a vile crime was impossible. The only elves she knew of were beyond his reach, hidden away in the forest of Du Weldenvarden. And there was no elf she knew of that would willingly travel beyond their borders. It had to be a lie –a cruel, manipulative lie. She would have sensed such a presence!

"She," said Murtagh, glancing at the Spartan's direction, "isn't our foremost threat."

Nasuada overtook them and crossed her arms. "You should not be bickering amongst yourselves. This battle is won today."

"My lady, I do not mean offense, but…back in Uru'baen, I only saw the king a few times. When he learned of the Spartan's origin as from the stars, he…became nervous. Aggressive, but nervous."

Arya thought she detected a hint of pain in Murtagh's voice.

"We don't have time for this," the Spartan called as he turned around to leave.

But Murtagh wasn't done yet. "Because there was a prophecy, derived from the elves and, before them, the Gray Folk. A prophecy which depicted the destruction of Alagaesia at the hands of a person coming from the stars."

The Spartan stopped moving for a brief moment, during which Arya could have sworn that he raised his shoulders but lowered his head. Then he kept on walking, leaving the four of them behind.

Nobody made any attempt to stop him though. Arya wondered at the truth of the king's words and, by extent, the truth behind Murtagh's words. She didn't know what to believe, as the Spartan was basically their most powerful ally and vital in their effort in the war. But his origin was an enigma, his people were strange and his equipment was alien. She believed that he came from the stars…and she knew that her mother disliked him because of that. And…the lords as well…and the Spartan did make friends with a Shade, even though Raia is different.

"A prophecy? From the Gray Folk?" asked Nasuada. "Remind me again…who were they?"

"Our predecessors," answered Arya. "They created magic as we know it. If the oath-breaker managed to find something that belonged to them…it must be true."

"No…" muttered Eragon. "No! Spartan might be hostile to everything but Aeraleth, but he wouldn't betray us."

"Enough!" exclaimed Nasuada. "True or not, we must not allow the men to find out about this. If they would…their morale might shatter."

Arya wondered why Murtagh cringed at the mentioning of shattering morale.

"For now," continued the Varden's leader, "we should decide what to do next. My father is conversing with the king of the dwarves as we speak…and I have had a…illuminating conversation with Captain Wren before Arya insisted on coming here."

The elf lowered her head, knowing that she had abandoned her post to sooth her feelings. She also knew Nasuada would understand.

"What about my cousin?" asked Eragon. "And the villagers from Carvahall?"

Nasuada took them to the white pavilion when she gave her reply. "Your cousin assisted the UNSC forces in taking out the traitorous twins before they could do any harm. For that, he is to be commended. I will make sure that every single life on board that ship will be fed and sheltered. But in the meantime, we He There aThe must discuss this Shade and we must discuss Murtagh."

When they entered the white tent, Ajihad and Hrothgar were still discussing troop movements and supply-trades. They stopped as soon they saw that people were intruding on their presence though.

`Nasuada,` exclaimed Ajihad. `You are back. It is good to see you again."

"Murtagh," muttered the king. "it is you? We thought you lost…"

"it was the twin's doing, your majesty," said Eragon. "They abducted him to Uru'baen, where the king was waiting for him."

"And then a dragon hatched for him," guessed Ajihad, displaying a remarkable understanding of the situation.

"Yes sir," answered Murtagh stiffly. Arya could feel his discomfort and she knew that there was nothing she could do for now. This entire situation was growing intolerable and she needed time to sort herself out.

"He must have your true name then?" asked Hrothgar.

"Yes, your majesty."

The ancient king sighed and he bowed his head. "You have my sympathy, young one. How will we resolve this situation?"

"Are you asking me?" said Murtagh, not without anger. "I am fighting the wretched dog's influence as we fight and you ask _me _how to solve it?"

"Peace, Murtagh," said Arya.

"You did more than anyone could have, if placed in your position," added Nasuada. "The only thing we ask of you now is patience. We will find a way to change your true name…and in doing so, freeing you from the king's grip."

Murtagh gritted his teeth, but he still bowed for Nasuada. His anger didn't seem to be directed at her. "Thank you, my lady."

"Eragon, Arya, you two may go now. Nasuada? I need you here," Ajihad then told them. "Murtagh, it might be wise for you to remain here for the moment. I shall address the men in a moment, to tell them of your courage in coming to us."

Arya took Eragon's hand and led him out of the pavilion, not wanting to be waste any more time. She guided him through a series of tents, until they reached the outskirts of the camp. Then she turned to face him, hoping to gather enough courage to apologize. "I should not have called you a fool," she said.

"That's alright. Why were you so distressed? What plagued you so?"

She averted her gaze. "In your time with your teacher…did you learn anything about Shades?"

Eragon nodded. "When a living being's will and mind is overtaken by the will of a spirit, they die. Everything they were, everything that made them, is purged. The spirit then uses its energy to transform the body…but he said that the magic of spirits is vastly different from ours."

"It is. Therefore, a human Shade is many times more powerful than a normal human. Spirits only seek sentient beings that possess magic, agreed?"

"Agreed. But how does that explain Raia then?"

She shrugged. "That, I know not. Shades are nigh-uncontrollable creatures of evil magic. The only way to control one is to promise it something it wants. The king must have promised atrocities to gain the trust Durza…but Raia does not seem to be evil."

"She made the pain in my back disappear. She made the pain in Ajihad's wounds disappear. She became Spartan's protégé. How can a Shade do that? With the spirits controlling their bodies and all?"

"That is what I am getting at, Eragon." Arya looked at the silvery curves of the river, which streamed ever peaceful when compared to the Burning Plains. "But have you ever learned about a Shade other than a human one?"

"No. Elves rarely trifle with spirits and humans are easier to take over…right?"

Arya looked at Eragon. Despite how elfish he looked with his pointed ears, he still had many of his human features. His eyes, still filled with as much life and personality as before, weren't as slanted as hers and his cheekbones were not as prominent as that of a real elf. He wasn't a real elf, but neither was he a real human. But he was Eragon and that was what mattered. "You have not learned of an elf Shade, because my people speculated it. "

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If one even more powerful than Durza had appeared, would it have gone unnoticed?"

"No. The Riders would have stopped it."

"True…but a being like an elf turned Shade would have caused unimaginable harm. It would have forever gone into history as a threat that must never be forgotten."

"But I haven't learned about it…so according to your theory…no elf-Shade must have existed."

Arya nodded. "That is my point. An elf turned Shade would wield power equal to Galbatorix's at the height of his reign. And as only the most evil of spirits would take advantage of the opportunity to possess a living being and rob it of its life, a Shade is always evil."

"But if this elf-Shade is evil, why haven't we heard of her yet? Is she able to control herself?"

With a heavy sigh, Arya sat down on the ground. Her leather outfit still had patches of blood and ash on it, despite her best attempts to clean it. "That too remains a mystery to me. But…you saw what Durza could do and he was human. Imagine what an elf-Shade could do. This creature might well be unstoppable."

"I refuse to believe that anything is unstoppable. Even the king has a weakness."

Arya smiled. "That attitude will help us win this war. But you must understand. Can you tell me how this female is connected to Murtagh?"

And Eragon told her how afraid his friend had been. The overwhelming fear that he himself had felt and how completely dominating the Shade's presence had been. How Murtagh had pleaded her for more time and how she had declared that Eragon and Spartan were his.

The elf felt a stab of anger at that last one. Not only was the blatant declaration that a life could belong to anyone a blight on everything she believed in, but it was also a personal attack on the only person whom she felt like she had a real bond with these days. And if Eragon belonged to anyone, it would be _her._

"And she works for Galbatorix?" she asked.

"I don't know," Eragon said with a shrug. "The king wants a female dragon to rebuild the dragon race. But I don't know if that means Aeraleth or Saphira. And_ she _wants a Rider as well."

"This is worrying. The king must want to rebuild the Riders as well…but this Shade does not seem to share in that plan."

"Murtagh said that she wanted to break Spartan and me."

"That is _not _going to happen," she furiously said. "I will not permit it."

Eragon sat down as well, next to her. "I know you won't. But I also don't want you to get killed defending me. If this Shade is really as strong as you say…why didn't she destroy the Varden? She had me, Murtagh and Spartan at her mercy. Why didn't she take us?"

That was a very good question, though Arya did not know the answer. The only thing that made sense regarding the Shade's sudden mercy was…the Prophecy. Again. She reached for Eragon's hand and said, "what did Murtagh tell you about the Spartan? Did he attempt to warn you before?"

Eragon didn't pull his hand away. "He said that Spartan was going to kill us all. But I don't believe that."

"Fate can't be fought, Eragon. It would be futile to attempt it."

The boy looked at her with an expression of shock. "Are you saying that he should simply accept it if he was destined to destroy us?"

"No," she replied, wishing that she had something wiser to say. "But if something is meant to be, it is nigh-impossible to change it. But…personally, I think the Shade is lying. Even if she was once elf, that is long gone now."

"You think she lies?"

Arya nodded. "She must seek to destabilize us, now that we have Murtagh back. We should focus on breaking his oath to Galbatorix. Only then can he be free."

Eragon looked at her with an expression of helplessness and longing. He looked so vulnerable…"Do you think we can win this? We have powerful allies, but…the king has even more allies."

She pulled her hand away and pulled the Rider closer with it, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. It were times like these that reminded her that, behind his wisdom and duties, Eragon was still an inexperienced soldier thrust into the battlefield. It was an amazing thing that he could drive himself to do so much simply because he deemed it right. Other people might have grown to resent the Varden for all the forcing and manipulating…but not him. "Some people will never give up and die for their beliefs. I do not seek to die needlessly. If there is no chance at winning…if the king's evil grows so foul that nobody can stop him…it will already be too late. Our power lays in our unity. If we stand together, we will prevail."

He didn't reply to that, but that wasn't necessary. Arya knew when Eragon could keep going and when he needed someone to pick him up. And now, she knew he was strong enough to keep going. And she would stand by his side throughout every moment, to ensure his success.

"Prophecies, Shades and odds…" Eragon said with a sudden smile, looking her in her eyes. "Nothing is ever easy for us, is it?"

"No…it isn't. And when Durza captured me, I thought things would never be easy again." The memory of her torture still haunted her in her dreams, but she could bear it now. She was able to resist thinking about it during the day now and she knew that, once this war was won, she might never be able to let it go forever. "And when I learned that the new Rider was a human boy…I felt like we had lost. But I found that this boy was so much more than what he appeared to be. Eragon, do you know how many humans I harbored positive feelings against?"

"I take it you felt for Nasuada and Spartan?"

She nodded. "Ajihad, Nasuada, Spartan…Murtagh to some extent…you. And none of them understand me like you do."

Eragon gently placed his hand on her waist. "That must have been lonely."

"It was. I always hid myself away and focused on my duty…but that served to alienate me, I guess…"

"But that has changed now. You reconciled with your mother…the species are uniting themselves against our enemy…and you have friends," Eragon told her.

She placed her head on his shoulder. "Sometimes I forget all that…we all lost things when this war raged on. I lost my two only friends…I lost contact with my mother…I …"

"You gained Orik as a friend…you gained Saphira and me as a friend…you found out that, despite everything, Spartan wants to help you," Eragon softly told her and she smiled.

"I know. I must not forget that again."

Whatever Eragon was about to say had to wait, as a sudden distant rumbling distracted both of them from each other. Arya looked up and saw a group of black dots at the horizon steadily growing in size. Her first thought was that they were being attacked by another flock of Lethrblaka, but they were too fast and too loud. Their forms quickly turned into weird triangles and the rumbling grew even louder. They slowed down considerably in front of the Varden camp and she was able to make out what they were. Four of them looked like two black triangles glued together, with an avian shape. There were three others, which looked like some sort of fish. The avian ones were black and the broad fish ones were a dull green. How had they just appeared? They were faster than dragons, that wasn't possible!

"Eragon," she gasped. "What are they!"

Eragon jumped to his feet and drew Zar'roc. "Stay close to me," he told her, despite the fact that she was the better fighter. But the strange objects didn't attack them and instead hovered over to the Varden's camp. She could hear the roaring of dragons and the screaming of men as the objects came within their view as well, but there was no sound of battle anywhere. What were these things? What was going on?"

"Come on," said Eragon. "If these are new creations of Galbatorix, we need to protect everyone."

Arya extended a mental probe towards the flying objects and tried to break into their minds, but what she felt was extremely unlikely. The metal monsters that had already crossed the Varden's camp were devoid of thoughts! Instead, a collection of smaller minds was located somewhere within. That didn't make sense.

"We need to hurry," she replied, seeing both Thorn as Saphira take off to fight the new threat. "I fear this might be beyond our ability to control."

* * *

It was with the relaxed attitude of a woman who was finally done with work that Raia leaned back against the ruined fence-work, contemplating her place in life. The battle was over and basically, the Varden had won. But that did not neccesarily have to mean that _she _had won.

Today, she felt like she was experiencing one of those rare moments where she didn't completely hate the people around her. She had actually been enjoying her day a lot, what with the so-called great battle and all that. Her mood had been lowered by the appearance of a group warriors of the one race that should have been wiped out by the Riders, the urgals. But they had died in droves during the battle, like they so much craved to do, so she guessed it was alright. The battle of the Burning Plains had been a powerful test of her loyalty though; she wasn't loyal to the Varden, nor to the Empire. She was loyal to her mistress, but also to the Spartan. While her Mistress wasn't directly loyal to Galbatorix, she _was _loyal to herself.

And Raia was to serve those needs, no matter what.

Across from her stood one of the few normal humans she could tolerate near her presence. An old, hairy man with blood-stained armour and a weary, dumb expression on his face. He had come all the way from Furnost looking for a 'man with armour as dark as the night and a gem like blood', which basically meant that he was looking for Spartan. And that was something that she could not have, so she had sought him out to eliminate him as soon as she had heard of him.

That plan had changed, however, when she found out that he had had a direct run-in with Spartan in the past without actually having fought him. Her curiosity had been aroused. So after having saved her favorite human from dying by crushed throat, she had sought him out not to eliminate him, but to keep an eye on him.

She needed to ponder her own future too. Fighting on the front lines and slaying dozens upon dozens of enemy soldiers had been easy enough, but…sensing the presence of her previous partner had not been that easy. As her former assignment of protecting Aeraleth's egg had not been very successful and she had been the one who had gotten the order to hunt it down and kill the Rider. Of course, the rest was history and here she was, having just murdered the fellow guardian whose name she never bothered to learn. In a way it fit, her new name being Shadeslayer. It was more elegant than 'Bane of Man' or something like that, but it had placed her in a precarious position. Namely, the position of one who did not know what to do with their life.

"He does take long," said the man. They were sitting relatively close to the border of the camp, a dozen meters away from the position where the UNSC people were resting.

"He _did _just wipe out battalions of enemy soldiers," Raia bit back. "I think he deserves to walk back on his own pace."

"I did not mean offense, my lady," said the man, showing a remarkable degree of politeness. It might be because she hadn't told him that she was a Shade yet. It might also be because she had told him that if he wanted to meet his quarry, he had better fall in line and obey her.

She could hear the vague groaning and screaming of the prisoner of the three starborn soldiers. That was part of the reason why she had chosen this position to regroup with her ally; the sounds of the psychopathic Imperial sorcerer being tortured. From what she had gathered from her glimpses of the battlefield, the twins had been cruel people who reveled in the usage of their power to hurt other people. She knew that they were twins because of the memories of random soldiers she had searched; she had never actually had any contact with them, as they had disappeared after the battle in the mountains.

But she knew that, if the starborn soldiers had captured one of the twins, the other twin had to be dead. And she also knew that their survival meant the survival of Murtagh, Eragon's friend. And the other rider that had appeared while she had been fighting her kin...had to have been him. Perhaps Spartan could shed some light on that. He had contacted her with a rather desperate and urgent touch to his mind, which she guessed was why she was here now.

But due to the fact that she had also felt the gracious presence of her Mistress on the battlefield, she was…hard-pressed to focus. She had not contacted Raia to give her further orders and neither had she sought her out. So what was that supposed to mean? What was she supposed to do now?

Raia sighed and then felt the fortified mind of a particular Rider approaching her. She was used to his extremely silent approach by now; he simply did not make any noise when he walked, even though he was heavier than a Kull. But his mind stood out amongst the tidal waves of normal, human ones and that was why she almost never failed to pick him out in a crowd. His armour was a dead giveaway too.

"Spartan," she greeted him.

He replied with the tiniest of nods before asking, "Who's this?"

"We met south of the city of Furnost, my lord. Do you not remember?"

Spartan was silent for a few seconds before he replied. "I kidnapped you from that town."

Raia raised an eyebrow at that. The two had actually met? Under kidnapping circumstances? Did anything normal ever happen to him?

The man bowed slightly. "So you do remember me. I feel honoured."

"Yeah yeah, everybody remembers everybody, great. What happened out there? Why did you need to talk to me?"

"Is Daenlith here?"

She sighed explosively. "I don't know where your accursed elf is. Why, do you need something _pondered _to death?"

His helmet turned towards her and she felt his eyes staring at her. "No. I need…advice."

Aeraleth seemed to choose that moment to land, with a lot of violence and buffeting winds. The aged soldier stumbled to the ground, while both Raia as her companion remained pretty much unfazed.

"Heavens," breathed the man. "A dragon…I knew the king was lying…"

"What sort of advice?" She asked, ignoring the rambling senior a few meters away from them, though Aeraleth seemed interested enough in him. When Raia looked at the black dragon, who was playfully sweeping her tail across the ground, she noticed that the creature was hurt pretty badly. "What happened to her?"

"We encountered trouble," Spartan replied, glancing at his bonded partner as well. "I already healed some of her more serious wounds."

"Seriously? Just what did you encounter?" she said, surprised that anything could hurt a dragon that badly. She had spotted the Lethrblaka, but Aeraleth should have been capable of outmatching at least three of those things at the same time.

"Half a dozen Lethrblaka and your Mistress," the Spartan coldly replied.

"M-my Mistress?" asked Raia, a chill running down her spine. Her Mistress wanted a Rider of her own very badly…but if both Eragon and Murtagh were still here and Spartan was still alive…what had happened? "You met her? How do you know it was her?"

"I fought her," replied the Spartan. "And she was stronger than you. I guessed the rest."

She groaned in frustration. "I got that, thank you very much. What. Happened. Where did she go and what did she _do _to you?"

"She disappeared, but that's irrelevant."

"But if she appeared on this battlefield, it was to spirit away a Rider and their dragon. She wouldn't just _disappear_!"

She felt Aeraleth attempt to contact her and, after a moment of hesitation, she allowed the dragon inside. But she made sure to hide most of her thoughts and feelings from the creature. '_Both you as my Rider are distressed, due to the presence of one woman. Who is your Mistress, Raia?'_

"She did," Spartan replied, unaware of the communication going on between her and his dragon. "And this needs to remain classified."

She stared at him with a flat expression.

'_It means secret.'_

'_Ah.'_

"Sir," spoke the old guard from Furnost, probably completely unaware of the fact that he was unwanted at the moment, "much has changed since you left. My people have agreed to remain at neutral ends with the Varden."

"How come you are here?" asked Spartan. "Did she take you here?"

"She told me that she could bring me to you. I wished to find you and warn you-"

"About a prophecy?" interrupted the Spartan. "You mentioned one before…I could have…used that info."

For some reason, he sounded off. Depressed, if that was possible. Now that she really thought about it, this entire situation was off. First, the other Shade had turned up to do…something. Then she had felt the presence of her Mistress, who had strode across the battlefield without capturing her Rider or informing her. And now Spartan had contacted her with a high sense of urgency, yet he was stalling by talking to this unimportant human instead of just telling her what was going on. Aeraleth was wounded, Murtagh was a Rider and now he was talking about some prophecy.

Had he gone mad? Had the wounds inflected on his bonded partner brought on some sort of feverish state to his mind? Reptilian bodies were much more resilient to shock and wounds than human ones, she had learned that some time ago. If she was staving off a deadly fever, Spartan might well already be affected by it.

"Let us go back somewhat, shall we?" she said, speaking clearly and slowly. "I sense my Mistress, then Murtagh shows up. Then, I kill a Shade trying to murder the UNSC people, after which you contact me with a rather urgent tone. And now a random human _temp _told you about some _prophecy_?"

"Temp?" muttered the old man.

"Basically, yes," the Spartan replied with a small shrug. Yet, despite his familiar cold attitude towards all things serious, Raia could tell that the situation was serious. Even as the Spartan turned towards the old human, she noticed that Aeraleth kept keeping watch for something. "So, tell me about the prophecy."

"What prophecy?" exclaimed Raia, her dwindling patience starting to crumble completely.

"It was a tale handed down my family, ma'am," spoke the old man. It agitated her greatly that a hairless monkey like him could be more useful to the Spartan than her, though she made sure not to show that. She had her dignity after all. "It was a tale known only to a select group of people. It was said that, at one point, a warrior would come from the stars…find a world he could not allow to continue…and burn it."

A cold pit fell in in her stomach and she stared at that blood-red visor that hid the Spartan's face. Her mind was racing to process that new information and she remembered his inhuman feats; how he had disembodied her not once, but twice in close-quarters fight. How he had stolen the egg and hatched it. His memories, which should not belong to any living being, let alone a human. "Did you know about this?" she asked, a faint feeling of fear starting to form in the back of her mind.

"No," replied the Rider.

"You did not?" asked the human, a surprised look on his face. "Why, Lord, this is great news!"

"No," growled Raia, "it is not. Who told you about this prophecy-thing? Was it Murtagh?"

"Relax," the Spartan told her. "Murtagh didn't say a thing." He hesitated, before adding, "Except that if came from some grey people."

"The Grey Folk?" she whispered. She could feel her stomach icing over and she turned towards the bearded human, who was eyeing them with weary but attentive eyes. "Leave us."

"Lady, I think we should-"

"Leave us!" She snapped, making sure that her pointed teeth were visible for the man. She didn't know who he was or what he wanted with the Rider, but had to be the _least _important factor right now and she couldn't use some _human_ listening in on conversations that were too dangerous to even hold.

The old man looked at her with a serious expression. "Y-yes…of course, I shall tend to my duties…"

As Raia stared at frail, dwindling form of the leaving human, she found that she was breathing heavily. Her chest was heaving and her head felt light. Was she losing her temper? Again?

"And who told you about this?" she asked, doing her best to keep her calm.

"I don-t understand-"

"Just! Tell me." She didn't want to lose her temper with the Spartan, but heavens knew he was testing her patience.

"The elf-Shade. Your Mistress."

She gritted her teeth and attempted to keep herself calm. She did not face the Rider, for fear of him seeing how much she struggled with her anger. "Do you know who the Grey Folk were?"

"I read about this 'folk' in a scroll. The predecessors that shaped magic, but disappeared."

"Yes. And do you know the nature of prophecies in Alagaesia?"

"No."

She smiled bitterly and crossed her arms. "That is because nobody does. A prophecy appears in the ancient language and the very second one reads or hears it…it is written in reality itself. She used to tell me tales about elves panicking because one accidentally stumbled upon a prophecy detailing the death of their king. Lo and behold…he fell during the Rider wars, when Galbatorix slew him."

"You're telling me that a prophecy becomes real when discovered?"

"Yes."

"That makes no sense."

"And you wearing that suit for years at an end does?"

He fell quiet again and Raia could feel the stare of his dragon burning in her back. Perhaps that last remark had been unnecessary.

"It does not need to make sense," she said. "Sometimes, magic just doesn't make sense. If my Mistress told you about it…if she told Murtagh and the King about it…it will happen."

He didn't dismiss it again. That was unlike him.

'_You seem indifferent to all of this,'_ Aeraleth told her.

'_Do not mistake my indifference for apathy. I have other things to worry about.'_

"So how do we stop this?" the Spartan suddenly asked.

Raia turned to face him and saw that he hadn't moved an inch since they had started this conversation. "How?"

"Yes. The old guard knew this. Your Mistress knew this. Murtagh knew this and soon, Ajihad and Nasuada will. Daenlith will. How do we prevent this from happening?"

"Prevent the others from finding out?"

"No; the "destroy the world" thing."

"You don't get it, do you?" she bit at him. Her frustration over her Mistress' indifference to her position was boiling over and she couldn't deal with it. She couldn't deal with the utter darkness in which she was being kept. If she was discarded because of her failure, that would be understandable. It would mean the end of her life_, _but at least she had would have closure. "You and this Varden can keep fighting all you want! But if the _founders _of magic predicted that someone's going to end this land, so be it!"

"I won't accept that."

"It's not a matter of accepting, it's-" Her voice stalled in her throat as she caught the outlines of a dozen flying objects heading their way. At the same time, the Spartan whirled around and stared at the things as well. A faint rumbling noise was growing louder and louder and at the border of the camp, Saphira and Murtagh's dragon started to growl.

"What is that?" she breathed.

"That," said the Spartan, turning towards the probable landing spot of the crafts, "would be UNSC air-support."

"Your ships?"

"Small ones. Looks like four Longsword interceptors and three Pelican dropships."

"You named your ships after swords?"

"No," said the Spartan as the seven vessels flew over the Varden's main camp and sent half of their army in panic. Screams and shouts were already piercing the silent air and Raia had no doubt that the men of the Varden might attempt to attack these new ships from the stars. Could things never be simple?

"Why are they here now? How did they find you?"

But the Spartan ignored her. He stared at the distanced ships for half a minute, no doubt communicating with his dragon or contemplating to go join the humans. Raia watched as the three of the olive-green ships landed and wondered how they could fly if their wings were so small. The main body itself was larger than the two stubby wings combined and there were strange, blue flames coming out of a few holes on the wings and the two short tails. The other four ships she only caught a glimpse of before they broke formation and scattered, circling back around the camp faster than a dragon could fly. Those were flat, black and much larger than the green ones.

Something was not right. Raia looked over her shoulder, seeing that Aeraleth stayed behind. Why wasn't she following?

'_What is wrong?' _she asked. '_Are you bothered by the prophecy?'_

'_I could not care less for a prophecy…what bothers me is how close to the truth it is.'_

She wondered what that was supposed to mean.


	26. The Art of War pt I

"_My lady."_

"_Skip the greetings, Garm. Where did your kin come from?"_

"_I do not underssssstand."_

"_The Varden was attacked by Lethrblakae during the battle of the Burning Plains. I thought that they agreed to stay hidden?"_

"_Ssssstay hidden, they did. The King hassss found much treasssure under the sandsss."_

"_Treasure? You said that last time."_

"_Yesssss….much eggsssss hasssss he found there."_

"_Ra'zac eggs under the sand?"_

"_Yesss…."_

* * *

The ships touched down and Maine watched as every single soldier in the camp was sent in a fit of either alert or panic. Maine watched the people of the Varden react with their sluggish, almost dulled senses and he felt a sense of amusement. He knew it was wrong and that it really should not be there, but he felt it nonetheless. Aeraleth kept a healthy distance from the landing-zone, mostly because he had ordered her to. Saphira and Thorn did not possess Riders with the foresight that these might be hostile crafts and because of that, they were getting dangerously close to them. Captain Wren had better communicated that these weren't hostiles, or this would turn into a bloodbath.

Two of the three pelicans were slowly touching down, their internal hulls pressurizing to release the marines inside. The other Pelican was hovering over the camp, to make sure that nothing would attack its sister-ships. Maine recognized the formation, leaving him to wonder where the Longswords fitted into the picture. They possessed enough firepower to turn any army on this world into a burnt mess. Had the Captain called for these ships? With the repaired IFF tag? That was a smart move. Finally, after all these weeks of confinement to this stupid planet, his ride out had arrived.

And so had his big problem. He wasn't going to leave Aeraleth and neither was he going to let ONI have her. They could have Galbatorix´s dragon once they beat him, but not her. She was special.

Three urgals appeared in the scene and they started stupidly growling and bellowing at the ships, holding their heads low and bearing their horns with aggression. Maine watched them arrogantly stride towards the ships and secretly hoped that the UNSC would open fire and turn these animals into pulp. Blind aggression towards everything around them…stupid.

If they wouldn't, he _would._

"Stand down," yelled an officer.

An urgal shouted in protest and Maine felt his trigger-finger itch. He only realized that he had his sidearm solidly aimed at the back of the nearest Kull when he was about to pull the trigger. Alarmed, he forced his arm down and clicked the safety on. He took a deep breath and resisted that urge to go on a murder-spree.

"Back off! I won't say it a second time!"

_Give me a reason._

That sounded like Jörmundur, the second in command. At least someone had sense around here.

The two Pelicans their hatches and two marines per ship ran out, taking up positions flanking the respective Pelicans. They had their guns aimed at the watching Varden soldiers and covered the sides for the rest of the marines, who quickly followed them. Each ship held roughly a dozen marines, all of whom were rushing to find cover or other flanks to utilize.

Saphira and Thorn approached the ships; the blue dragon flew around the marines and landed at their rear, while the red one landed right in front of the two Pelicans. Their scales might deflect arrows and magic attacks, but _not_ a burst of a rotatory 70 mm chaingun tipped with depleted Uranium rounds. If this situation went on for longer than a few seconds, one of the parties might open fire. And Maine could already hear some of the marines conversing with each other, sharing their unease and surprise at the sight of these giant reptiles. It was only their sheer discipline and the command of the officers that kept them from opening fire.

The Spartan decided to resolve the situation before the UNSC would waste their ammo on friendly targets. He stood up and jumped down from the platform he had been using to scout the situation, making sure make as little noise as possible. He knew he was perfectly visible from the UNSC's view and that was exactly the point. If they saw their Spartan with the new contacts, they would be reassured.

But Maine wasn't the only one currently walking up to the landing forces. His motion tracker spotted friendly ID's roughly half a dozen meters to his left, which did not come from the Pelicans. When he glanced aside to see who it was, he spotted Captain Wren and Specialist Takeo striding amidst the crow of soldiers.

"It's a Spartan," called one of the marines. "Friendlies!"

"Stand down marines," shouted Wren. "Stand down!"

"It's the Captain!"

Upon seeing their leader in one piece, most of the marines eased up. Two three-men cells were still keeping their weapons trained on the dragons, which Maine didn't think was a needless motion.

"Sir, what is going on?" asked one of the marines.

"Is that a dragon?"

"First things first," Wren firmly said. "There are _no _hostiles in this camp. Repeat, no hostiles. These creatures are friendlies, these people are friendlies."

The Captain then turned to Jörmundur, who bellowed at his soldiers, "What are you slack-jawed dimwits staring at? Get back to your posts! If the Empire attacks, you're all dead meat! Move it!"

As the tide of Varden soldiers slowly dissipated and returned to their duties, Maine glanced upwards and eyed the Pelican that was still hovering over the camp. It was in the optimal position to lay waste to everyone below and nothing could have stopped it. He might have been capable of ruining it through magic and a dragon could have taken it by surprise and pulled it out of the sky, but apart from that, the ship was untouchable. This conflict was so unlike the Human-Covenant war…it was horribly tilted to their favor this time. But what would Wren do now? He didn't have the authority to take part in a war that the UNSC did not have interest in.

"Time to make camp somewhere else," he heard the ONI Captain muttering to the Specialist, who nodded. The two of them glanced at his direction, but did not comment.

The two Pelicans took off and joined their sister-ship in the air, after which they spread out in formation. One of them stayed behind.

"There is a decent rock-formation a few clicks back, approximately fifty meters to the side of the river," spoke the Captain. A Sergeant in the ranks of the marines immediately barked at the men to get their "sorry asses" to where Wren wanted them.

After that, the Sergeant turned towards the Captain. "Sir? India Two-One is staying behind as you ordered."

"Good. Where's the rest of the crew?"

"Cryo-sleep, sir. The supplies were running low, so we made the decision to send the interceptors. When we picked up your IFF tag, we sent the marines in."

"Excellent work Sergeant. Take me back to the _Duty_."

"Sir, yes sir. Permission to speak?"

"Granted."

"What are you going to do with the _Duty_, sir? Communications are still down."

"Why, taking her down, of course."

"Sir?"

"Come along Sergeant, we're waking the crew."

Wren was taking the destroyer down to the surface? Why? Was he going to spent considerable ordnance to win this conflict, or was he going to establish a base of operations until reinforcements could get to them?

Maine stepped forwards and addressed the Captain directly. "Sir, what is our next objective?"

Wren assessed him carefully before he gave his reply. "Objective? We're going to search for the Forerunner presence in this country. The scientists need to be in the clear to do that."

"We're going to fight?"

"Yes," the Captain said with a frown. "We are. I want you to make sure nothing happens to the marines while I'm gone. You hear me Spartan."

"I do."

Wren shook his head. "No. I want to hear you say it."

Aeraleth was listening in on the conversation and provided him with the mental equivalent of a nudge.

'_He looks distressed, does he not?'_

Maine didn't think so, but he wouldn't argue. "I'll keep them safe."

"Good. Make that your top-priority –remember this, Spartan. Their lives are not more important than ours."

"Yes sir."

Wren then gestured at a few marines who had stayed behind and marched towards the waiting Pelican dropship, leaving Maine behind in a moderately confused state. Why was the Captain bringing the Destroyer in to fight the Empire? Didn't he want to spare the UNSC forces the fight? Or was this really about the Forerunner presence here?

He didn't really care anymore. He didn't know what he wanted. What he did know was that he needed to find a way to continue pushing this conflict. He couldn't concentrate unless he was in a fight, no matter how much Aeraleth assisted him. As such, it was time to go on the offensive. To beat back the Imperial presence before they could regroup. The prophecy was not important and neither was the fact that Raia's mistress had appeared. The war held the priority.

On the other hand…it explained things. It explained so much. It explained why Murtagh was so afraid of him and it explained why the elves had such strange reactions to every mentioning of the word "star". In a way, it was a good thing. He could operate unopposed by anyone in Alagaesia, as the elves would be too scared of him to do anything. Islanzadí could not stop him and neither could Hrothgar.

Would he still obey Ajihad and Nasuada now? His true superiors had appeared. His mission could continue in true UNSC fashion. But he had pledged to help the Varden and that was what he would continue to do. Until Wren had unearthed the Forerunner presence down here, they were all stuck. And because of that, he was now free to let go of most of his worries. He could leave the Forerunners with their Gilderien the Annoying alone and concentrate on what needed to be done. Arya and Eragon could worry about Murtagh and Thorn and if that didn't work…he would make sure that it worked.

First things first though. Healing Aeraleth. He really ought to have done that right away, but he had been too preoccupied. His energy had recovered long enough.

He located his partner with a flick of his mind and then made his way through the camp to where he had left her. He encountered multiple wounded soldiers, dying and suffering alike. Hundreds of men were still missing and they didn't know what to do with the thousands of dead bodies of the fallen. It was a slaughter that was even less organized than the most frantic battle in the human-Covenant war and that infuriated him for some reason. It made him feel insulted.

Second Lieutenant Riley was there too. She was tending to the wounded soldiers in the middle of the camp, right next to a wounded Corporal. Maine needed an update on the situation, so he stopped at the UNSC personnel.

The Lieutenant spotted him when he was still a few meters away from her and turned around, puzzling him.

"Sir," she said and snapped off a salute.

"I need a sitrep, Lieutenant," he ordered.

"Yes sir. The UNSC took two casualties; one KIA and one WIA. Lance Corporal Browning didn't make it and Corporal Hudson over here took a beating. He'll be fine."

The Spartan sighed. So the Empire had managed to kill off one of Wren's marines? That was unacceptable. It was a waste. "What happened?"

"Staff Sergeant Bryce said it was something called a "Shade". She-"

Maine took notice of the fact that the Shade responsible had been female.

"-stabbed Browning from behind and crushed Hudson's throat. A female soldier then showed up and neutralized the Shade. Then she healed Hudson and disappeared again."

A female soldier being responsible for the death of a Shade? Impossible. There were barely any females in the Varden's army and those that were, were no magicians. It must have been Raia. Why? Why would she bother helping the UNSC forces? Or did she have something to settle with the Shade?

"Where's the rest of your squad?"

"Scattered around the camp, sir."

Maine broadened his mental view and touched the minds of those around him. It was a tiring, unpleasant experience, but it resulted in him locating Sergeant Wilks.

"Wilks is to your six, two dozen meters and behind a tent."

"Sir, how did-"

"Tell him to locate the UNSC forces south of this camp and brief them on the forces in this land."

She saluted. "Sir. I saw the ships land. Where is the Captain?"

"Taking care of something. Now pull out."

"Yes sir."

With that taken care of, he was free to return to his partner. Aeraleth was still lying at the corner of the encampment, waiting for him to return. All around them soldiers were yapping with each other, all of them baffled by the sudden visitors from the skies. Not all them had been there when he had declared that he was from the stars and most of them never knew that there were two Riders with the Varden. As such, they all freaked when they saw the ships descend.

Maine wondered how they would react when they saw the _When Duty Ends _make its atmospheric entry. They would probably panic, throw their weapons to the ground and kiss their ass goodbye. Which was probably what they should actually do if the remnants of the Covenant ever found them. One more reason to stay behind, he guessed.

Aeraleth looked up when he approached, her nostrils flaring as she rose. '_And?'_

'_It's my people alright,'_ he replied. '_They are here to help.'_

'_How many are they?'_

'_Two dozen initially, another four or five dozen in the ship. A total of a hundred soldiers.'_

She sent him a flash of curiosity. She had been communicating more and more in emotions and senses than in words lately. _'Is that a lot?'_

He knelt down by her side and placed his hands on her side, before muttering the words of healing that Raia had once taught him. '_When positioned properly, each one can kill an Imperial soldier with one shot. One shot every three seconds, making it two-thousand kills per minute.'_

'_That is…impressive.'_

'_But they won't need to. With our aircraft, we can kill hundreds of soldiers in seconds. We can go directly to the capital-city and destroy the King. We can bring in the Destroyer and ruin his entire capital with one shot.'_

'_Your people can destroy so much. How could you have ever been driven so close to the edge by your enemies?'_

As he mended her flesh and knitted her scales back together with a steady flow of energy, he briefly considered her question. _'The UNSC can scorch entire cities with a salvo. The Covenant can scorch entire continents. That's…ten times this country.'_

She remained silent, occasionally twitching or growling if he hit a sensitive spot. Only when Maine was certain that he had patched his partner up well did he step back, whereupon Aeraleth placed another remark.

'_What now?'_

'_Now?_' he repeated. '_Now we go to war.'_

She rose to her full size and inspected him closely. '_The enemy had many of the leather-wings. What else will they have for us?'_

'_I don't know. And I don't care.'_

'_Do you think that the king will ignore this defeat?'_

He shrugged. '_It doesn´t matter. This war is over.´_

'_But more than half of the enemy escaped. They could still bring ruin to us.'_

'_We'll stop them before that.'_

The day slowly transitioned into night. The soldiers finally calmed down and most of them went to sleep. Scouts and watchers were sporadically scattered throughout the camp and only a select few people stayed awake. Maine understood why that was; the battle had taken a massive toll on the Varden and most of them were exhausted. The dwarves had their own camp, the humans had their own camp and now the UNSC had their own camp as well. All the events of the day –the appearance of Murtagh, the Lethrblaka and the UNSC- must have tired them out immensely. The only individuals who were still awake were those with either an unnatural stamina, like Eragon and Arya, or with an unnatural mental prowess, like Ajihad and Hrothgar. Or individuals with both, such as Raia and Maine himself.

As the super-soldier stared at the stars, wondering when he was going to see the UNSC Destroyer make its descend, he heard someone approaching him. It was someone with light footsteps, ruling out dwarves and humans, leaving an elf as the only exception.

He turned around to face the newcomer. Aeraleth was sleeping as well and he was currently standing near the edge of the river, where he had just washed his armour in the streaming water. He didn't bother pulling his sidearm at her, as he identified her as Daenlith.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin, Daenlith älfa-kona," he said, using the formal greeting.

"Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr," she replied.

He finished the formal greeting and observed the elf. Much like Arya, she was mostly untouched. "How did the battle go?"

She shook her head with a sad expression. "Many lives were lost today. The King's army was greater than we could have predicted."

"It's good that you are still alive," he said. "We still won."

"Agreed. But at what cost?"

He understood her point. This battle could easily be filed away as a pyrrhic victory; a victory that would cost them the war if it served as the norm. Too many soldiers had died for this conflict. "A cost we won't have to pay anymore."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He had explained this once before and he didn't feel like doing it again. But she had asked him, so he couldn't refrain from giving het an answer. "My people arrived. They will land here in force and the enemy's presence will be forced to surrender."

"You place a lot of trust in your people," she commented, crossing her arms.

Maine knew that he was talking in the ancient language, wherein no lie could exist. "I've seen what Galbatorix's empire can do. I've seen what the UNSC can do. The outcome is easy to predict."

She averted her eyes. "The Forsworn are dead. Of course the enemy is easier to fight if they have no dragons to rain fire from above…"

He raised his head ever so slightly, remembering how Daenlith's Hall had been annihilated when some of Galbatorix's underlings had attacked a section of Du Weldenvarden. What should he say? That he knew how powerful an air-presence could be? That this time, the enemy did not have air-support? That it would be _them _doing the burning this time?

No. That would only serve to insult the elf. What she needed, was a boost in her morale. And he knew just what would increase her morale; he had been waiting it for hours now. It wouldn't be much longer. "I think you'll soon why the UNSC excels at warfare."

She did not reply. Instead, she sat down on the ground and pulled her knees to her chest. Elves were so mature and graceful in normal life, but they took to desperate deeds of self-comfort like any other sentient being when faced with the cruelties of war.

"Ever since I met you, I have been wondering how you could stand being in that suit," she quietly told him. "I can not image having to live encased in metal or stone."

"It's not as bad as you think," he replied. "The suit carries itself. It fits seamlessly around my body."

"For humans to have reached that level of work without magic…it is unreal to think about."

"Humans can do a lot," he told her. Sitting down seemed to be so redundant when wearing MJOLNIR, but to remain standing wasn't attractive either.

"And we saw the fruits of that this day," replied the elf.

He didn't know how to deal with that way of viewing the world. Were she any other person, he would have reacted with an assertive dismissive response. But she…was a different individual. "You know, we survived a war that had worse odds. In ground conflicts, the UNSC forces won more often than not. But then…the Covenant forces would fall back into space and burn the planet from below. Imagine beating Galbatorix's army here, only for a hundred dragons to show up and burn the Varden's army. That was our war. Three decades long. And we won."

He half expected the elf to dismiss his statements or counter them with a question. "Please excuse me my look on the conflict, Spartan. You must understand the differences between our species." He did not expect her to bow her head and apologize like she did. That was new; had he seen an elf apologize before?

"The difference between our species?"

"The elves gave up their fight long ago. Warfare is not our way; our war with the dragons was the last major conflict, while your people…"

"Never gave up," he finished. "You're right, elves can't wage war. But your people can outmatch those of the Empire if they tried."

"There lies the problem; they do not try."

Maine looked up again and saw a sight that was always followed by the sensation of relief and victory, if only for a moment. He softly nudged Daenlith with his thumb and, when she looked up at him, pointed at the sky.

"What-" she began, but she trailed off halfway and stared at the sky, her eyes sparkling with wonder and awe.

There, descending from the sky, approached the _When Duty Ends_. The large Destroyer appeared like a flaring dot among the stars at first, but it slowly grew larger and larger until its shape became visible to all who were watching. The ground was rumbling and shaking when the enormous vessel appeared overhead, buffeting the landscape underneath with the enormous winds that it produced. The ship was nearly five-hundred meters large and most of its mass came from its two-meter thick Titanium Grade-A battle armour. The hull was bristling with point-defense turrets and Maine could make out the plates that covered the Archer-missile pods. Its lateral lines revealed the twin MAC guns that were integrated with the ship, allowing the Destroyer to dish out an impressive amount of punishment. Built like a tank without the hindrance of its bulk, the ship was a sight to behold, even for him.

Behind them, shouts and screams erupted from the Varden's ranks. Men were preparing themselves for a fight and grabbed their weapons and armour. The dragons growled and all three of them took off to engage this new, aerial threat. Maine immediately contacted Aeraleth and told her to lay off and stay down, which she reluctantly did. Even though the three creatures could not possibly harm the Destroyer, it might identify them as hostiles and blow them out of the sky with a few bursts of its guns.

"What," whispered Daenlith, "is that?"

"That would be our ship," he replied. "The _When Duty Ends_. A Destroyer-class vessel, with enough firepower to scorch this land. Still think that we don't have a chance?"

The elf said nothing. She simply stared at the dark shape of the ship with wonder, oblivious to the panic that it seemed to cause. It was good to see her truly marveled by something; he knew what the effect of a loss of morale could bring.

Apparently, Aeraleth had spread the word to her kin that they had better stay on the ground, as none of the dragons flew up to attack the vessel. Maine was certain that nobody in Alagaesia could have missed the descent of the ship, with the possible exception of the elves. The army behind them was in a state of total panic. Men were forming lines of defense and fired were being put out. No doubt the magicians of the Varden were trying to puzzle together what was going on this very minute.

"Come on," he said, extending a hand to the elf beside him. "Let's find Ajihad. He'll need confirmation."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Daenlith took his hand. He carefully pulled her up and led the way back to the camp. People were shouting left and right and quite a few of them turned towards him, asking and begging him to do something, or to tell them what was going on. Some of them had made the connection between the first ships and this one and it was those sensible soldiers that stayed the calmest, trying to get their friends to calm down as well. Locating Ajihad in this mess would take him hours, so he resorted to probing the area around him for the mind of the Varden's leader.

A shot went off and he immediately pulled out his sidearm. The marine, whom he recognized as the Sergeant he had located before, held his shotgun in one hand and aimed at the sky. "If you could stop trying to shoot arrows or magic the big ship in the sky," he shouted, "that would be great."

His shot had served to gain the attention of the collected soldiers, most of who were now staring at him instead. At least some of them had calmed down somewhat.

"This war," he said, "is now officially UNSC business. That up there is our base. Our camp. So you can all go ahead and tell your buddies that the ship in the sky is not an enemy."

It didn't look like the Varden's men really got the message. The weapon discharge had caused a brief lull in their panic, but not all of them understood the implications of what the marine told them. Maine wanted to leave the camp behind and join the UNSC forces, but he didn't want to leave the people down there alone either. After all the time he had spent with the Varden, he had grown used to the likes of Arya, Eragon and Orik.

He thought about the possibility of having the three representatives of the species aboard the ship. This war could become an easy conflict for the rebels with the help of the UNSC forces. They needed to hold a conclave; to make sure that everybody was on the same side. That would require queen Islanzadí, king Hrothgar and Ajihad on board the ship.

It could work. The UNSC could send out dropships and collect the people within the hour. After that, they could meet on the bridge and plan their next moves. It made so much more sense than simply letting the three leaders be separated in war. Oromis had told him that the elves were going to mobilize, after all.

And if that worked as well, the Destroyer could open its hangar bays and allow the dragons to enter. It was actually a pretty good idea; the ship could serve as their base for this war. All he had to do was convince the Captain to follow along with it.

"I am relieved to see you are unharmed," the elf then told him, much to his surprise.

"You are?" he flapped out.

"Yes," she said, giving him a funny look. "Don't sound so surprised."

The _When Duty Ends _did not descend further; it remained a hundred meters or so above the ground, looming menacingly in the night. Now that everyone was seeing it, and most people realized that it wouldn't do anything, they calmed down somewhat, though they still talked about nothing but the "metal gods" that came from the stars.

With his idea still firmly in his mind, he tapped into the long-range radio and contacted the Captain. It hadn't worked at first, but now that the ship was actually in orbit and manned, it seemed that he could get contact more easily. "This is Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven. Captain sir, are you there?"

A burst of static, then…"_This is Captain Wren speaking, go ahead."_

Daenlith looked at him, perhaps finding it weird that he was seemingly staring in the distance. She didn't know he could communicate with others via his helmet.

"Sir, I think we should hold a meeting with the leaders of our allies. Brief them on our plans."

"_It's not your job to think of that, Spartan."_

Maine knew what his job was. "Sir, my job is taking care of missions on the ground. You command the ship so that I can fulfill my mission. "

The Captain remained silent for a few seconds, before quietly saying, "_I don't need any natives onboard, Spartan. This Operation doesn't require sticks and stones."_

"Sir, refusing the locals may result in higher casualties on our side. We'll need their help to find the Forerunner caches .Also, this is their land. They need to know the plan."

"_That may be true…do you honestly think their interference will change much?"_

"Sir, yes sir."

"_Spartan, how much influence do you have as a…Rider?"_

"_A lot, sir."_

Wren audibly sighed. "_Alright then. I'm putting you in charge of all armed forces native to Alagaesia, willing to fight under our command. That means you will be in charge of gathering them and getting them to listen."_

"Sir, yes sir."

"_Get going then. I'll open the hangar bay. Use the Pelicans already on the ground."_

"Copy that." He terminated the link and looked at his pointy-eared partner. "Good news. This war is about to become organized. Contact Arya and tell her to meet me outside the Varden camp with Eragon, ASAP."

She raised a slender eyebrow as she stared at him. Maine, realizing that she did not know any military words, quickly explained, "That means as soon as possible."

Daenlith blinked once and then quietly walked away, shaking her head in the process. Maine watched her leave, unaware of Aeraleth's consciousness near his until she was practically shouting in his head.

'_Are you still awake? I am speaking to you!'_

He turned towards the center of the camp. '_I was distracted. How was your nap?'_

'_Very pleasant. I dreamt of a strange plant, strangling trees as it pumped small clouds the air. Then I was woken. Unpleasantly.'_

'_Don't eat anyone.'_

'_I shall consider.'_

'_Good. Help has arrived; it's time for action. Follow Arya and Eragon and wait with them for my go.'_

'_Will you be alright on your own?'_

The Spartan paused, remembering that the events of the past day had taken a toll on his stamina. He could easily ignore the thing about the prophecy and being beaten by a Shade, but memories were still haunting him occasionally. But now he had someone who accepted him because of it, instead of an entire board of admirals chastising him for committing a crime of war. _'You were sleeping, remember?'_

'_I was, but I would have woken at a moment's notice.'_

'_I don't doubt that. No, things are turning for the better. I'll explain on the way in.'_

'_In what?'_

'_Spoilers.'_

As it turned out, Ajihad wasn't that far away from them. The man was desperately trying to calm down his men, a few dozen meters away from the approaching super-soldier.

"Spartan!" The man said with his heavy voice upon spotting him. "thank the heavens. Perhaps you can shed some light on _that?"_ he pointed at the Destroyer in the sky.

"Sir. That's my ship," replied the Spartan, before adding, "The UNSC ship."

"What is it doing here?"

"Aiding us in the war-effort, sir. My people have officially joined this conflict and we are going to hold a summit inside of it."

"A summit? What for?"

"For briefing everyone on how this is going to proceed. The Empire still has thousands of soldiers. If we strike, we could accidentally harm allies."

"That is a smart move, Spartan. I am certain that king Hrothgar will accept the invite to this summit of yours. Do you think it smart, however, for all the leaders in this war to be in one place? What if the king decides to attack?"

That statement was funny to him. "Ajihad, it would take Shruikan five hours of nonstop fire-breathing to even heat the hull. And the ship will blow him out of the sky before he can even get close. Right now, our ship is the safest place in all of Alagaesia."

"A bold statement."

"A realistic one."

Ajihad eyed him keenly. "I do not want my daughter anywhere near that thing. I am willing to go, but Nasuada must stay behind."

"Duly noted."

"I will need time to prepare my departure. Will you take Arya as well?"

"Arya?"

The dark-skinned man crossed his arms. "Seeing as the queen is still far away in the north, Arya's role as ambassador will have to make her eligible for this summit. I thought this would be clear to you."

"Where is the queen?"

"Arya notified us that the elves are currently moving to take Ceunon, to the east of Du Weldenvarden."

"We can find and retrieve her within the hour."

Ajihad slowly opened his mouth, staring at him with wide eyes. "I –you what?"

"The ships you saw before are capable of extreme speed, outdoing a dragon many times over. We can find and escort Islanzadí within the hour."

The man stared at him a few seconds with an open mouth, before slowly shaking his head. "Matters are never normal around you. Leave me to my preparations; I shall meet you when the time is right."

Maine, who couldn't wait until he had gotten everyone onto the ship, simply nodded. "Good luck." With that, he made his way to the dwarven camp. The king was even easier to find than Ajihad and, after an initial conversation about philosophy and other vaguely related topics, the bearded dwarf agreed to his plan.

"I will attend to this summit of yours," said Hrothgar with a tone of finality. The guards around him did not react to that statement. "But know that I shall not travel on a dragon."

"That won't be necessary," said the Spartan. "We will pick you up when everyone's ready."

The ancient creature's eyes twinkled with amusement. "You have changed since we last met, warrior from the stars. Has the battle ceased your numbing?"

Had he been numb? It wasn't even cold outside. Hrothgar was speaking in riddles again. "No."

The king smiled and his wrinkles deepened. "Your gait carries less elegance…less certainty, but more self-awareness."

How the monarch found that out, Maine did not know. All he cared about was making sure that everybody would go to the conclave at the _When Duty Ends _and understood what they got themselves into. The dwarfs were in, the humans were in and now the only race they needed in was the elves. Ceunon…he remembered that name. It was a city in the northern reach of the Empire, above the town where Eragon hailed from. The Longsword interceptor could take him there within half an hour, but he was supposed to rally the leaders at the current camp and take them to the ship.

He opened his communications channel again and pinged for the airborne interceptors. One designated as Zulu-418 came up, with which he immediately created an encrypted connection.

"This is sierra zero-zero-seven," he said, "I'm in need of a priority pick-up, how copy?"

"_Zulu Actual copies all, Spartan. Damned good to hear of you. How can I be of assistance?" _a young male with a slight accent replied, his voice sounding more enthusiastic than the Spartan had heard in a while.

"Four-eighteen, I need you to go pick up an H.V.I for a war summit. Target is royalty, elf and most likely involved with military operations. "

"_Come again, Sierra? Elf? What's that code-word for?"_

"Current racial designation. You'll need to pick up a native guide to get to her. H.V.I is at the northern part, east of the forest designated Du Weldenvarden."

"_Acknowledged. Coordinates?"_

"Coordinates are a no-go for the moment. Southern part of the camp. Look for a blue dragon."

"_Blue dragon, sir?"_

"No code-words this time, Zulu. This planet is populated by a race of reptilian species similar to ancient lore."

"_So a dragon?"_

"Yes."

"_Roger that, on my way for pick-up. Zulu Actual out." _

The Spartan terminated the channel and eyed the Destroyer in the sky once more. It´s hangar bays were still closed, but one single call could change that. Wren had officially made him responsible for the ground-war, which was both satisfying as worrying. But he felt good; better than he had felt in a long time. Even though the brutal revisit of his darkest hour had mentally destabilized him, it had also freed him. It had been an invasion of his most sacred area; a direct assault on his own mind. A crude and painful invasion of his privacy. And it felt better; in the years since it had happened, he had not once talked about it. Not with Math, who was his closest friend, or with Parangosky, whom he didn't even trust. It was like tearing out shrapnel; painful and bloody, but oh so relieving.

Though he wondered if it would do him any good to linger on the thoughts for too long.

* * *

Arya sat on the cold ground, with Eragon sitting to her left and Saphira nestled to her right. The enormous, steel dragon hovered in the sky, looming over them and threatening to blot out the sky. The scale of the craft, for she knew that it was manned, was beyond her. Ships only worked on water. Dragons only flew because of their massive wings and magic. No manmade object could fly, it was impossible. If the elves hadn't figured out how to do it, how could humans have? It was nonsensical and yet…here it was. A massive, dark object that should not exist, hovering right over their camp.

She had been willing to believe the other flying objects, as the Spartan's fairth had shown her other things that were impossible to believe as well. Hulking monstrosities, creatures that only existed in the darkest nightmares of the most disturbed individuals. As such, the idea of flying creatures as large as the most ancient dragons, her mind could tolerate. But she could just not process this; no matter how much she stared at it, she did not understand it.

Arya was tired and she simply wanted to go to sleep and forget about this all, but Daenlith had contacted her with a message from Spartan. A message saying that her presence was required, along with that of Eragon. That Rider never seemed to sleep. She knew that she should be worried right now, for the Grey Ones themselves had predicted that he would burn this land by himself, but she just couldn't take it seriously. Spartan was ruthless and merciless, yes, but only to his enemies. She could not envision him harming any innocents. Men, yes. Women and children? No. besides; Spartan was a man of duty. He was more likely to protect them than to harm them.

Eragon was still staring at the ship, even though Saphira had been the most sensible in her decision to simply go to sleep. He too could not believe the presence of the humongous monster, but unlike her he seemed to enjoy it. The Rider had a peaceful, nigh-happy expression on his face. The idea that humans, his probable ancestors, had taken the stars had lightened his burden. She could understand it, but not appreciate it. The craft was dangerous and, unlike most of their Alagaesian counterparts, the humans commanding it were shrewd.

Their peaceful moment was disturbed by a violent rumbling deeper than any dragon could produce. The ground started to tremble and, not for the first time, Arya jumped up, thinking that they were being attacked by the king himself. She expected the world to burst into flames and the soldiers of the camp to die and flames-

But that did not happen. Instead, one of the flying triangle-shaped dragons soared overhead, before slowing down and landing a few dozen meters away from. The vessel was broader than it was long and both Saphira as Aeraleth could have easily hitched a ride on it due to its size. Two entry hatches slowly opened up on rear, facing the craft.

Behind them, Saphira snarled at the ship and got upright.

"She hates those things," explained Eragon. "They frighten her."

Two men got out of the vessel and gestured for them. Arya carefully extended a mental probe and felt for their minds, but they were well-guarded. Not as well as Spartan's or the Captain's, but guarded nonetheless. Why were the minds of all these humans so closely guarded if there was no magic on their world? It did not make sense.

"I believe they are gesturing for us," muttered Eragon. Due to his physical change during the Agaeti Blödhren, his eyes were more sensitive in the dark and generally sharper than normal.

"I see that," she replied. "But why?"

The two men approached them. They were wearing light-green helmets with a blue visor. The rest of their bodies were armoured like the soldiers in the camp; green shoulder pads, chestplates and armoured legs.

When they were close enough, one of them started talking. His voice was oddly muffled due to his helmet, but Arya could still understand him. "Good evening. Zulu four-eighteen, ready for a ride to the north. Which one of you is our native guide?"

Eragon and Arya looked at each other.

"Ehm…guide?" asked the boy.

"We are under orders to escort an elf "aytch fee aye" to the" _When Duty Ends _for a meeting-"

Arya felt a flare of panic when she heard mention of the name of her race. What was this man talking about?

"-regarding a war summit. How copy?"

"What's an duty ends?" Eragon sheepishly asked.

The two men shared a glance and the other one spoke. "You two are familiar with the Spartan, right? Seven-feet-tall giant with a knack for murder?"

That sounded familiar. "Aye."

"He ordered us to retrieve a royal…individual…from the north, east of a large forest, for this meeting. How. Copy?"

Arya now understood that they were talking about her mother, but she did not know what she was supposed to imitate. "What do you need us for?"

"One of you is supposed to be our guide to get to the target. You weren't briefed on the operation?"

"No, we were not. What do you want with this…royal individual?" Arya warily asked.

One of the men made a strange gesture with his hand and turned back to the vessel, while the other one explained, "Two-Sierra specifically ordered us to pick the individual up for a war summit. To do that, we will need a guide to take us to its position. Which one of you will be it?"

"Both," Eragon said before Arya could decide.

"Good," the man said, turning back as well. "Follow me."

The elf glared at her human companion, angry at him for making the decision for her, but that didn't last long. She realized that, if these people were going to harm her mother, she needed to protect her. And Eragon would make protecting her easier. His decision to go along made perfect sense.

But the decision of the UNSC forces to suddenly want to hold a war summit did not make that much sense. It wasn't as if the Captain was a newcomer to this conflict; did he bring the rest of his forces to bear because of that? Or did he want to seize power over Alagaesia himself? If more creatures like Spartan showed up…would the combined power of the elves be strong enough to beat them?

She followed the two soldiers with a quick stride, Eragon right behind her. The man had sounded honest enough. His voice was weird and filled with a thick accent, but not neccesarily dishonest.

"So…what's with the pointy ears?" asked the human as he entered the large vessel through one of the openings. Arya eyed the metal stairs with suspicion, but it was the human's words that ticked her off. She knew that, should she reply immediately, she would lose her temper. Perhaps sensing her problem, Eragon took it upon himself to answer for her.

"What do you mean?"

The man tapped at the side of his helmet as he walked deeper into the bowels of the ship. "Where we come from, humans got round ears."

"I am no human," Arya replied, realization dawning on her. The men with the Captain had been on Alagaesia for weeks. These men however, had been in their ship for that exact same time. They might know nothing about elves and dwarves. "I am an elf."

The soldier stopped moving and waited until they had walked up the ramp. "Right then. An elf. And I'm a grunt."

Wasn't he?

Uncertain with the direction of their conversation, Arya simply followed the man as he walked up a ramp lead that to a small hatchway that went to the left and the right, with another ramp leading down again. That ramp they took, following it to a corridor on the left. After that, the human took them to a room with windows at the sides and a lot of steel pillars with glyphs in the middle.

"Welcome to the cabin," the man told them. Three more humans were present in this "cabin"; one of them was sitting and two of them were standing. All of them were busy with some of the glyph-covered surfaces, while the man sitting in the chair turned around.

"Welcome to Longsword interceptor Zulu four-eighteen," said the man. "Make yourself at home by not touching anything, ever."

"Wait, you call your vehicle after a sword?" asked Eragon, being ever the curious human. "Why that?"

"Why'd your parents give you your name, kid?"

Eragon shrugged. "Probably to name me after Eragon the First, first elven Dragon Rider."

"Right, elves. Pointy-eared magic-doers, right?" one of the men laughed at the other.

"Magic? Like hocus-pocus, watch-me-pull-a-rabbit-out-of-my-ass? No way. I'm buying dragons and elves, but not magic."

"Why not?" Eragon asked, refusing to simply keep quiet and observe. "It's real. We can prove it."

"Prove it?" asked the men in the chair, turning around to face Eragon. "You gonna pull a rabbit out of your ass?"

'The tips of Arya's ears grew hot and she scowled. Despite the ill nature of that remark, nobody laughed. Eragon had picked a poor timing, that seemed to be all.

"No," exclaimed the boy. "Magic is the manipulation of energy with your mind." He pulled out his knife, which prompted two of the men to aim their weapons at him. He stiffened, before continuing the motion in a slower, more obvious way. He showed the knife in a deliberately non-hostile manner and then whispered the word for lift, slowly sending the blade into the air. The four men watched on, but only two of them had their helmets on. The other two were staring at the floating knife with tense, but neutral expressions.

"That hocus-pocus enough?" one of them muttered.

"Still ain't seeing no rabbits."

"Must be magnetism or something. Small gravity-manipulators…plasma?"

"Dude, I don't even know. But after the shit we've seen, you really think that magic is a far stretch?"

"I guess not…"

The two men sitting in the chairs strapped themselves in and one of the standing ones walked away, disappearing through the door.

"You know what? I'm not even going to tell you to sod off. Just grab a hold of something and do as we tell you, alright?" said one of the soldiers.

Arya was about to ask why she should follow orders of some human soldier she had never met, when the entire craft suddenly lurched forwards. At that point, all she could do was scramble to reach for a handhold on something near as the vessel took the skies. She tumbled against the metal wall and cried out in fear and alarm as forces she was not aware of gripped at her stomach. She ship made another strange movement and she nearly tumbled forwards again, were it not for Eragon grabbing a hold of her wrist.

Once the vessel had probably aligned with the sky, the forces on her body lessened and she was able to calm down. Her heart was beating like crazy and she felt hot and embarrassed. The two humans did not seem to be bothered however. One of them muttered a few numbers to the other, whom replied with another series of numbers.

"Are we flying?" she whispered to her friend.

"I believe so," he replied.

"Without a dragon?"

"It does appear so. But can it be faster than Saphira though?"

"I do not think so." To the pilots, she asked, "what do you want with this elf royalty?"

"Like I said, the Spartan said he was going to organize a war-summit. The Captain did brief us on the situation, but left many details out. He told us about dragons and dwarves, but not about the rest."

"A war summit? Where would this summit be held?" Arya asked.

"I would guess at the _When Duty Ends, _of course."

Arya stayed quiet. This was all so surreal; she would have never thought that she would be flying one day, let alone inside of a giant, metal dragon. Was her mother truly safe? If Spartan was behind this summit, nobody would be harmed…but he was not the type to do these sort of things. Even though he was changing his behaviour subtly the past few weeks, this sort of diplomacy was still far beyond him. What was he aiming at? What did he want?

The ship continued like that, adrift in the sky, proving the impossible by simply existing. Arya, by no means comfortable, took refuge in the fact that Eragon was with her. That he was willing to be separated from Saphira by half Alagaesia simply to be with _her _instead. It was heart-warming and inspiring.

It was at that moment that Arya was struck by a pain unlike she had ever felt before. It was a pain that not even Durza's torture could compare to. It originated form the center of her head and obliterated all sense, immobilizing her and keeping her pinned to the metal floor as a thundering, mighty voice screamed in her head. "_Sinner!"_

She clenched her fists as a wave of emotions washed over her. She was nothing, _nothing _compared to the almighty voice of the one, he who consumed. He who would rule. She was insignificant, a pawn and an insult-

Arya shook her head. For a second, she felt like something important had been taken away from her. Like she had forgotten something extremely valuable to her, which would be lost if she let go of it so she had to focus, she had to keep holding on and remember-

She ship lurched to the ship and sent tremors through the walls. A second later, she was fine. It was nothing to worry about.

Ten minutes went by in silence, then twenty. Eventually, one of the men stirred and addressed Arya. "You have a name, ma'am?"

"Arya," she quietly said. She did _not _like flying; it did weird things to her stomach.

"Alright. Arya? Can you come to the screen over here? We need you to point out where we are."

The elf carefully walked over the metal plating, doing her best not to stumble or to increase the terrible feeling in her stomach. "What do you need?"

"You see this screen?" the human pointed at one of the metal pillars integrated into the floor, on which Arya could see a large amount of land. It was almost as if she was watching through a hole, seeing the land fade away underneath their craft. But that couldn't be, as they should be going much faster and much higher.

"I do. I am not blind."

"This is what the aft cameras see," the man told her as if she hadn't responded at all. "We spotted the forest on the forward camera, so we should be pretty close to the city by now. If you see anything indicating our current target, let me know."

"Our target?" she warily asked.

"Yeah. Target, goal…it's slang."

"I see. And we are looking for the elf army?"

"That's the gist of it. I heard they were…err…Jake, you seeing this?"

Arya reared closer and eyed the screen. In the distance, she could see a city. She recognized it as Ceunon, the city that her mother was taking from the Empire. But something was wrong; there was an army to the left of the city and she saw flashes of magic, but they were not aimed at the city itself. A dozen of Lethrblaka were flying overhead, attacking the spellcasters that were responsible for taking the city.

"It appears we got airborne hostiles," the man called Jake replied. "Wren said something about this." He tapped a button and the image enhanced, showing the devilish monstrosities attacking her kin with everything they had. With their large talons, they slammed into the ground and destroyed entire formations of elves. Though their wards should have protected them against the attacks, she did not see the result of such attacks.

"Can't you do something?" Arya snapped, fuming at the relaxed and calm voice of the human watching her kin being attacked mercilessly like that.

Eragon, who had been waiting in the back, made his way to the front of the cabin and eyed the screen as well. "They're under attack, we need to help!"

"Alex, spin up the ventral one-twenties and target those bats."

"Roget that, warming up cannons. Got a tally on those things."

"What's going on?" asked Eragon.

"You might want to grab something to hold on to," grinned Alex. Arya could see him pressing a few buttons on the console, before a red square appeared on the screen. After that, the entire craft trembled and shook as if struck by lightning. It felt like thousands of stones were being flung at their direction, pounding each and every square inch of the vessel's surface.

The ship shuddered as dozens upon dozens of projectiles were being poured into the sky and on screen, all the visible Lethrblaka exploded into bloody chunks.

Eragon swore and lost his balance as a particularly heavy shudder caused the craft to lurch to the side heavily.

"Good kill, good kill," the man to the left said. "Targets neutralized, three breaking off to the south."

"Let the ventral take care of it."

Again, the ship shuddered and again, Lethrblaka on the screen flew apart into black pieces.

"Yeah, confirmed. Lots of little pieces down there."

The calm manner with which these men conversed about the deaths they had caused disturbed her greatly. Lethrblaka were immune to magic; spellcasters were rarely if ever capable of harming them. It was the sole reason why the elven casters had been unable to kill them. So how had these men been capable murdering so many of them with so much ease? And where had all these creatures even come from? The Ra'zac had been all but wiped out during the time of the Riders. Where had they even come from?

The elves down on the field were all making gestures at them and Arya realized that they were now visible. It meant that they had somehow descended without them noticing. Just how much was this vessel capable of?

"Am I seeing this right?" said Jake. "Are those all elves?"

"Explains Sierra's codewords," said Alex. "Guess this is our objective. Arya, kid-"

"Eragon."

"-time to go out there and convince the queen to come with us."

Arya nodded. This was not the time to hold on to her honor and refuse to assist her allies. She trusted Spartan and it was about time that she showed that trust. He wanted a war summit and the UNSC people had just transported them halfway across the land just to get that to happen. She would not stand in its way.

One of the men steering the craft flicked a glyph and the screen changed. It showed a view of the elves, hundreds of them, standing still and staring at the vehicle that had come from the skies. Arya supposed that the only reason they hadn't been subjected to mental probes and magic was that they had just saved them all from the aerial attack –and that wouldn't last long.

"Looks like pointy city down there," said one of the humans. Was he still making fun of the shape of their ears.

"Open the doors, we will take care of it," Eragon said as he turned towards the exit.

The humans did as he asked and Arya quickly followed the Rider down the section of the ship, right to the spot where the two hatches had opened up at first. She was still taken aback by the sheer ease that went into this vehicle. Faster and more durable than a dragon, more deadly than a Shade and capable of instantaneous actions…such a craft should not exist. It was simply too powerful.

With every single thing she learned about the UNSC, Arya came closer to understanding just how they had lived. How close their lives were to the edge of extinction and how much they had needed to sacrifice for that. Spartan was the living example to that.

When she stepped outside, the first thing she noticed was that the city in the distance was burning more than usual for a recently-captured city. What had her kin done?

"Arya-Dröttningu," said one of the elven warriors, seeing her approach. "Shur'tugal." the elves immediately lowered their assorted swords and spears upon hearing that.

"What are you doing here, my lady?" a male elf asked her. "What is that…that evil-looking vessel?"

"That's a long story," Eragon told them, foregoing the traditional greeting like Arya had. "It stands for certain that Spartan has brought allies for this conflict."

He was speaking in the ancient language, so the present elves didn't need to doubt it. The tense atmosphere instantly lifted and Arya could see them smiling and reaching for one another, comforting each other in the face of war and its relief.

_They do not even know what it is the humans can do,_ she thought grimly. She spotted her mother approaching the two of them through the ranks of the other elves, clad in her royal armour.

"Mother," she shyly said. Eragon bowed.

"Arya, daughter of mine, what made you come here? Have you abandoned your position at the Varden?' spoke the queen.

Before she could reply to that, Eragon cut in. "Arya and I are here for one reason. Spartan's people have arrived and their leader wishes to start a war summit."

"A summit?" repeated Islanzadí with surprise. "At this point?"

"They think it highly necessary," Arya quietly said.

"Well, it matters not. Traveling to their position would take us days, perhaps even weeks. My place is with my people, as you should well know."

"Actually," Eragon said, "it took us about half an hour to get here from the Burning Plains."

The queen opened her mouth and, for a lack of actual words, closed it again. She stared at the vessel with a shocked expression, before quietly saying, "How is that possible?"

Arya extended a hand to her still-estranged mother. "Come with us, and we shall explain."

* * *

"I will not board that thing."

"We are waiting on you."

"I can stay down here. What do you need me up there for?"

"Others are there too. Hedin, Arya, even Jörmundur. You should be there too."

"I will not. You will not convince me."

"Daenlith, Hedin is going as well. He is a dwarf."

"Then a dwarf has beaten me. Aeraleth was one matter, but this is a completely different one."

"Just board it."

"Why can you not come with us in the vessel?"

"Because I'm riding Aeraleth to the hangar bay. You know how much she likes flying."

The elf sighed and crossed her arms in the same manner a child might when faced with something it does not like. "Are you certain it is safe?" she said, gesturing with her head at the Pelican dropship behind her, which was ready for takeoff.

Maine felt the corners of his mouth curl upwards in a small smile. "This thing can survive three dragons trying to kill it at once. You'll be safe."

As he was speaking in the elven language, Daenlith had no choice but to accept his word for it, though she did not look amused. "This will be the second time you convinced me to do something against my nature."

"You're the one to talk. You still owe me for the Agaeti Blödhren."

"I suppose I do."

He walked her to the entrance of the Pelican, where the strangest assortment of crewmembers he had ever seen was currently assembled. King Hrothgar and his chosen protégé, the tough-looking dwarf Hedin, were sitting at the left row of seats, while Ajihad and Jörmundur were sitting on the right row of seats. Daenlith would complete the triangle of man, dwarf and elf for this Pelican dropship and Zulu four-eighteen Actual had confirmed that they were returning to the Destroyer with the queen on board. This summit would proceed nicely.

The Spartan watched the elf step aboard the ship and join the party of nonhuman races. He imagined grabbing his rifle and shooting all of them-

He shook his head and took a deep breath. What was _wrong _with him?

Daenlith glanced at his direction, perhaps noticing that something was amiss. Maine felt disgusted with the sudden intrusive thoughts he had been having and he quickly turned away, signaling for the Pelican to leave. He couldn't bear having anyone he liked be near him when he had those thoughts –they weren't his. They couldn't be his. He would never harm anyone who didn't deserve it, never. He couldn't deal with it. He couldn't keep going on with those thoughts. He had felt it earlier, too. The urgals had done nothing to warrant an execution and yet he had been about to murder all of them simply for being there.

Was he a bad person? Did he even deserve to be near people who were kind to him, if all he felt was the desire to burn their lives?

Weakened by that emotional moment, his emotions slipped through the mental link with Aeraleth. A second later, she was on to him.

'_What ails you, little soldier?' _she asked him.

The super-soldier watched the Pelican dropship take off towards the _When Duty Ends, _which had opened its hangar-bay doors. '_I keep having thoughts I don't want to have.'_

Compassion and understanding radiated off of his partner's mind. '_Is this because of that witch's curse?'_

'_No,'_ he replied. '_This was from before that. My body keeps creating aggression when it is not needed. I can't deal with that.'_

The dragoness landed a few meters behind him, her approach covered by the blackness of the night. '_Did the hatchlings perhaps feel the same?'_

He knew what she meant. '_I think so. I was there to capture an enemy. The village was simply in the way. I did not start any hostilities, but they did. I knew of child-soldiers before, but I never fought any of them prior to that incident.' _In his mind, it sounded so pathetic. A justification for what could not ever be justified.

´_Have you hurt anyone yet?'_ she asked.

'_No. But it's only a matter of time.´_

The dropship reached the Destroyer and docked; a sign to Maine that he should join as well. But would it be smart if he were to stand with the current most important individuals for the war? Would it be safe for them?

Aeraleth nudged him with her jaw. '_You should have trust in yourself. You would not harm anyone you care for.'_

He jumped onto her shoulder and from there, onto her neck. '_I thought the same. But I'm not so sure anymore.'_

'_You should find something to hold on to.'_

'_I know.'_

Aeraleth jumped into the air and the Spartan, preoccupied with other things, nearly fell off of her neck.

'_I told you to hold on!'_ she nearly shouted in his mind.

'_I thought you meant symbolically,' _he sheepishly replied as he held on to the large spike in front of him.

A deep rumbling sound emanated from the dragon's throat, which he had long ago identified as laughter. '_I know you can hold on to something. This disease has been lingering on your mind for days at an end.'_

He agreed, though he did not know for how long that would remain. The moment had passed already, but he could still feel the edges of another episode clinging to his mind.

Aeraleth flew him to the hangar bay of the Destroyer, taking only a minute to cover the complete distance. The bay was large enough to accommodate half a dozen Pelicans and Longswords each. Glaedr could have easily shared the room with Saphira, Thorn and Aeraleth and there would still be room to spare.

Wonder and awe reverberated through their mental link, a testimony to the sheer impression that the ship left on the young dragon.

'_Are all these vessels as large?' _she asked.

'_This is an average size. There are smaller ones, but also larger ones,'_ he paused, before adding, '_The Covenant's ships were all larger.'_

The amount of awe and impression that she felt nearly infringed on his own emotions. Nearly. Upon closing in on the hangar bay, he noticed that the Pelican dropship was already there. The passengers were exiting the ship and he could see both Hedin as Jörmundur stumble as they walked out.

"That was the most hellish ride ever," complained Jörmundur. "I would rather face a dozen magicians than do that again."

The tough dwarf looked unfazed by the journey, which Maine had expected. The bearded warrior was one of the few individuals he had had respect for, before his travel to Du Weldenvarden. He was pleased to see that he had survived tha battle.

King Hrothgar exited the vessel last, a huge smile on his wrinkled face. "That brings delight to my heart," spoke the king. "A dwarf could get used to that."

Ajihad and Daenlith were the last to exit the Pelican. Ajihad's face was masked by tension and discomfort, but Daenlith beat him by a long shot at that point. She was even paler than normal and she refused to meet anyone's eyes. Her hands were clenched into fists and when she left the ship, she did so with tentative, wavering steps.

Maine smiled. Elves…so stoic at times, so weak at other times.

Aeraleth didn't miss a thing. '_She is really bad at flying, no?'_

'_True.'_ He sent the dragon an image of a warthog in the middle of a chase with a ghost and said, '_Do you think she will appreciate a ride in one of these?'_

'_That depends.'_

'_On what?'_

The dragon carefully maneuvered past the various Pelicans and sniffed the air. Her talons produced louds clicks and screeches, yet she couldn't even scratch the metal. '_On how badly you want to fall out of this vessel.'_

He got the message. It was a threat, but a superficial –and fictional- one at that. '_It wouldn't be the first time I made such a jump.'_

Aeraleth paused in her investigation. '_Are you pulling my tail?'_

He checked his hands. '_No. Is someone pulling your tail?'_

'_It is a metaphor. It means "are you trying to fool me"'.'_

Ah. '_No. Spartans call that plan B.'_

'_How often does that occur?'_

He shrugged. '_Often enough to call it plan B.'_

The former Pelican-passengers spotted the dragoness and with that, they also spotted the Spartan accompanying her.

"If it isn't the battle-pair themselves," Ajihad said with a frown. "This place is built like a fortress. How does this stay floating, if not with magic?"

"Powerful engines," Maine told him.

"This is impressive," the king said, stomping with his boots onto the steel plating beneath him, producing dull echoes. "Very impressive. I would have never expected _such_ craftwork of humans."

That was a compliment, Maine guessed.

"With this, Galbatorix doesn't stand a chance," growled the veteran Hedin.

Maine nodded, before looking at the sole elf in the group, as did the rest of them. Daenlith's eyes flashed up once and she muttered, "Yes, it is quite good." Then she looked down again.

The king grunted. "Despite the pact with the dragons, most elves still prefer the ground under their feet. I too would like to feel solid stone instead of floating metal. Let us hurry to the summit."

"Where is queen Islanzadí?" asked Ajihad.

"We're expecting them any minute now," Maine answered. When the Alagaesians found something else to concentrate on, he quietly tapped into the communications network and radioed the pilots responsible for carrying the queen to the Destroyer in one piece. "Zulu four-eighteen, this is two-Sierra zero-zero-seven. What is your location, over?"

The response took longer than usual. "_This if Zulu four-eighteen Actual, we read you. We are currently en route to the target vessel, but –hey, I said don't touch that!" _

"Zulu four-eighteen?"

"_Sorry two-sierra, we are experiencing passenger troubles. You never mentioned that elves are a curious bunch."_

"They are?" he asked.

"_Yeah. Also sir, magic? You might want to tell us that next time."_

"Irrelevant. Is the cargo intact?"

"_Yes sir. We found the allied battlegroup, but they were engaged with air-hostiles."_

_Lethrblaka,_ he thought. "Were?"

"_Yes sir. We took care of it."_

That was good; it would help improve elf-UNSC relationships in the end. "Copy that. ETA?"

"_ETA –not now, Eragon- ETA three minutes."_

"Acknowledged. Good flying, Zulu."

"Copy that sir. Zulu four-eighteen Actual, out."

He terminated the link and looked around again. Hrothgar was examining the Pelican's fuselage, Hedin was knocking his axe against the plating underneath his feet and Ajihad was discussing the ceiling with Jörmundur. Daenlith stared angrily at the dropship that had carried her, as if it had insulted her.

Sure enough, Zulu 418 appeared after three minutes of waiting. The longsword caused a moderate panic among the current inhabitants of the hangar bay and Aeraleth scurried out of the way when the large interceptor landed.

The two hatches opened and the queen stepped out of the ship, followed by a shaken and clearly upset Arya. Eragon stumbled after her, a smile on his face.

"He did warn us," he said.

"He said we needed to brace!" Arya angrily replied. "I know nothing of such slang!"

"It was clear enough to us, my daughter," the queen said with a smile. "The humans were not to blame."

It appeared that being upset by vehicles was a common problem among elves. "Good that you're here," Maine said, giving the newcomers no time to get used to the shock that the hangar bay seemed to induce in people. "We have a summit to attend people, hurry it up."

The Spartan led the collection of elves, dwarves and humans through the Destroyer's interior. Captain Wren was currently active on the bridge, as well as the rest of the navy personnel. Every now and then they walked past a room that was too interesting for one of the party to pass up and the rest would have to stop and wait for his or her interest to drop again. That happened a total of three times per individual, until the Spartan lost his patience and pulled Jörmundur away from a cache of weapons.

Aeraleth could not fit through the hallways, obviously, so she had to stay behind in the hangar bay, though the Spartan had a feeling that she wouldn't stay there.

They passed a mess hall where a platoon of ODST's was having dinner. That elected a lot of curiosity from both groups, but Maine had no patience to deal with ODST's of all people and he quickly pushed his group on. When they finally reached the bridge, he was glad to have someone ease the burden.

He entered the oval-shaped bridge, which was positioned at the front of the ship. There were dozens of consoles spread across the room, which was large enough to accommodate thirty crewmen and –women. Half that number was currently manning the various control panels that were needed to keep the ship running. Various steps and stairs let to other stations aboard the bridge and at the front, a large window permitted them a clear view of the dark landscape of Alagaesia.

Smooth blue and yellow lights illuminated the room and upon entering it, Maine could hear Captain Wren softly whispering to himself, "I'll never break a promise again…"

The super-soldier scraped his throat. "Secret-Spartan zero-zero-seven, sir," he called before snapping a salute.

"At ease," Wren replied without looking at him. The Captain had his back turned to the entrance and he was currently eying a holo-table that was roughly two square meters large, with a large, spherical device hovering above it.

"An elegant design," said queen Islanzadí. She walked into the bridge and observed the screens that were displaying the current condition of the Destroyer.

Upon hearing that voice, Captain Wren turned around to face them. The insignia with four bars and a single star was clearly visible on his right shoulder. The Captain's uniform was of an elegant design of its own, clearly outmatching Islanzadí's outfit when it came to giving of an air of command. He had bags under his eyes and his expression was somewhat somber, but he seemed to freshen up somewhat upon seeing the three elves enter his bridge.

"Welcome," he said with a clear voice, "to the UNSC _When Duty Ends_." A large handgun was attached to his hips, which Maine identified as a new model; the M6H pistol, featuring a new electroless nickel finish. "My name is Captain Adrian Wren."

"It is a rare pleasure to meet you," the queen said with a small smile. Maine had noticed it before and he saw it again; human males were easily distracted by elves. Many a crewmember looked over his shoulder to stare at the newcomers and even Wren seemed to be taken back somewhat. Of course, he had to admit that the elf females were striking in their appearance. Even though both Arya and Daenlith were very clothed at the moment, they were still pleasant to look at. "Though I wish it would be under better circumstances."

Ajihad and Hrothgar stepped forwards, leaving their protégés behind.

"Captain," said Ajihad. "Well met."

"I saw you in the camp," said the old dwarf. "You partook in the battle."

Wren eyed Ajihad and Hrothgar closely. "As did the two of you. It is refreshing to see leaders that are willing to risk the same as their soldiers."

Maine wasn't too sure about that. The Captain had been forced to take part in the fight because of a severe lack of numbers. It wasn't normally a good thing if a commander was risking death in the fight; the risks far exceeded the benefits. Wren had to know that.

Daenlith crossed her arms and stayed near the back, as did Hedin. Jörmundur was too intrigued to do that though; he was taking in everything with a clearly visible interest.

"Yes," muttered the dwarf. "If only the time was better."

"We would not be here were it not for the conflict," Wren commented and pressed a few buttons on the table. Within a second, a holographic display of Alagaesia popped up. Ajihad muttered something under his breath and Islanzadí raised a skeptical eyebrow. Hrothgar smiled.

"What is that?" Breathed Jörmundur.

"This is a holographic display of your country," said the Captain. "We've been scanning this land, sending out UAV's to gather information. We have mapped the cities, armies and towns in an area roughly four-hundred square miles…all of it present on maps we gathered during our stay down there."

"You are meaning," Ajihad slowly said, "that you…scryed…all of Alagaesia? All of it?"

"Including the positions of the enemy?" asked Islanzadí.

"If you want to call it that, yes," said the Captain. "Now, according to our sources, this…" the city Uru'baen was highlighted in red, "…is the capital of our mutual enemy."

"Uru baen," said Ajihad. "There resides the oath-breaker."

Maine couldn't help but be somewhat disturbed by the stare that the elven queen was giving Wren. The Captain might not notice it, but he did. He wasn't quite sure of what he saw, but it couldn't be very good.

"We have devised a plan to lock down the surrounding area and cut this city off on all places," Wren continued. He pressed another button and a handful of cities were highlighted in green. "The following cities have been identified as a threat and will be dealt with accordingly. Aroughs, Feinster, Gil'ead, Belatona and Bullridge. Once these cities are captured, we can take Uru'baen."

"A sound strategy," said Islanzadí with a wry smile.

Ajihad looked less impressed. "Not neccesarily in that order, I take it?"

"Of course not."

"Good."

"But this situation was aware to us from the beginning," Hrothgar said, eyeing the Captain with a serious expression "Surely you did not mean to create a summit merely to tell us what we already know?"

"No, I did not," Wren replied, staring back at the dwarf. "This…summit…has a different purpose. Sierra?"

Maine straightened his back. He now knew why Wren had put him in charge of _all _armed forces of Alagaesia, not just the UNSC forces. He had gotten his wish, for a price. "Due to the asymmetrical nature of the combined arms, the UNSC will take command over all available units, spearheading the assault on all enemy positions. " He spoke with a monotonous voice, forcing all emotions away and staring straight ahead. He felt everyone stare at him and he kept his gaze solely on the holographic table.

"What do you mean?" asked Hrothgar.

"With the arrival of the UNSC _When Duty Ends,_ this conflict has officially turned from an insurgency to a joint, conventional war," said Captain Wren. He pressed a few other buttons and the image on the table changed to the recording of a helmet-cam, frozen in an image of the battle of the burning plains. "As such, we will open up a new front with which we will take over control over the conflict." He looked up, surveying the present representatives of the various races. "In layman's terms? We're taking control over this war."

Islanzadi was the first one to reply. Her voice was hard, her tone like steel. Though Maine did not see her expression it was not that hard to imagine how it looked. "We have suffered for _years, _fighting against the black king and his evil hand," she hissed. Maine felt an oppressive aura fill the room and a tingle ran down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood upright and even though he did not want it, he felt adrenaline flush into his system. The warm hormones prepped him for a conflict and created a sickening sensation in his stomach. "Thousands have given their lives to get us this far. Your ill attempt at arrogance sickens me and insults their sacrifices."

Wren was not impressed. Even though the elven queen spoke with a voice angry and insulted enough to make the Spartan feel worse about himself, the Captain continued to stare at her with an unflinching expression.

"Let me make one thing clear," Wren then said with a clear and commanding voice, as if he was giving orders to POW's. He activated the recording, which Maine recognized as his own camera footage from the battle. "_This _is _not_ acceptable. A sacrifice is made to change the odds of a battle. Anything less and it becomes a _waste_. If your years spent fighting Galbatorix culminate in _this, _your method of warfare is wrong. And if your method of warfare is wrong, you will succumb to every battle."

"How dare you," the queen whispered. Ajihad and Hrothgar watched the holographic battle unravel, but she kept her furious gaze aimed solemnly at Wren, as if she could force him to submit with her eyes alone. "For many years have I led my people. I have watched their suffering, their pain. I felt each and every loss as if it were my own life being taken and I will _not _stand idly by while a _human_ newcomer to the field of war chastises me on what to do! Were I not here for diplomatic ends, I would have struck you down here and now!"

Maine's fingers twitched at that threat. The elf was cutting it close.

And Wren was still not impressed. "Bury the threats. You and your people, in the forest of Du Weldenvarden, the past seventy years without any tie to the rest of the land, just because you let your emotions cloud your vision. To be a good leader, love that which you lead. But to be a great leader, destroy that which you love. Sounds familiar? I don't think so. Tell me this, queen Islanzadí. Tell me what good your people have done in the war. Tell me of your masterful guerilla warfare, your steel resistance and your masterful Intel-networks."

When she did not reply, Wren turned to face Ajihad and Hrothgar. "Tell me of your plan to overthrow the king. How will you win this war?"

Silence reigned.

Wren sighed, after which he stopped the recording. "Now the reason the enlightened prince and the wise general conquer and win everywhere they go is knowledge and foreknowledge. Islanzadi, my lady. How long has this war been going on?"

The queen was now staring at him with a solemn, disquieted expression. "A century," she muttered sullenly. "A hundred years since the death of my mate."

"No nation profits from prolonged warfare," Maine quietly said. He could not help but feel like had had betrayed someone's trust. "Speed is a weapon."

Wren eyed the present warriors and then continued, in a kinder tone. "Don't think I'm devoid of sympathy. A very wise man in our history, which is stained with warfare, once said that winning a hundred battles is not the apex of skill. The apex of skill is winning without having to fight. My people have more experience in warfare than any people I have met down here." He clasped his arms behind his back and stared at the holographic table, which was currently locked in the image of an Imperial soldier being broken by the large gauntlets of a Spartan.

"What do you want?" Ajihad softly asked.

"What will you do?" Islanzadí added.

Hrothgar remained quiet.

"What I want is for the senseless bloodbaths to end," Wren explained. "This battle, nothing was gained. It was a pyrrhic victory, nothing more. What I will do, is give you people a choice." His voice grew hard and he turned to face the present leaders. "This war will end and I will predict three outcomes. One: the Varden, the elves and the dwarves are beaten or destroyed and nothing will change except an intolerable loss of life. Two: the aforementioned groups will win, at the cost of an intolerable loss of life. Three: my people take over and end this war quickly, decisively and with as little casualties as possible."

Hrothgar chuckled. With his old, creaking voice, he said, "What great tragedies must have befallen the commander who does not heed royalty or reputation. What great horrors he must have endured, to speak this lightly over it. I will lend you my hammer, but pay heed that it might not obey a human hand."

"You accept, your majesty?" asked Hedin.

"Stone unending is eroded and destroyed by the river bending," said the king. "If we do not change our ways, only sorrow will be reaped."

"If you truly believe yourself capable of ending this war, I will follow you into the deepest valley," Ajihad said. "But know that I will not follow orders without accepting them as an equal."

"This bridge is open to you," Wren told the man.

Islanzadí continued staring at Wren, but it was Arya who replied in her steed. "I have watched too much be lost to ignore help when it is offered, even if it is forced upon me like this. Had Spartan refused to assist us, despite his crude ways, we might not even be at this point."

Eragon had stayed quiet up to now. When he answered, he spoke to the elven queen and Ajihad, respectively. "Not so long ago, I was in the same position. I was forced into matters without having any free will over them, even though I would have joined either way." He paused to let that sink in, before adding, "And I still remember my choice. "

Maine was surprised. When he had declared that all Alagaesian forces were now under control of the UNSC, he had felt like he had betrayed his friends…so shortly after having his darkest secret forcibly revealed to his partner-of-mind and heart. To hear them agree was…like a burden being relieved. Of course, he did not know what went through them. Daenlith had stayed quiet…and that could be both positive as negative.

"How?" the queen then quietly asked, observing Wren again. The Spartan did not think anybody had talked to her like that since…well, since him. "How are you going to excel where so many others have failed?"

Wren gazed upon the table one final time. "_We _will break the will to fight among the enemy. We'll strike at dusk, at Aroughs. If the Empire thinks they can win by sheer numbers, I'll give them a fight to remember."

* * *

Underway in slipspace, the Shipmaster of the _Twilight Compunction _watched his screens and observed the planet where the Luminary had pointed out the gifts of the Ancients.


	27. The Art of War pt II

"_But there are much worssse thingsss to worry about."_

"_Really now? What could possibly be worse than an army of Ra'zac bearing onto the Varden's army?"_

"_How about an old elf cult, resssurfacing in the eassst?"_

"…_you are joking, right? You've had too much human mead and now you can't think of anything funny."_

"_Human mead is poisssonousss to us, lady. I am not joking. At the time of the Wyrdfall, a group of elvesss broke off from their race and banded together, joining the Forsssworn."_

"_You don't need to look so amused, Garm. Keep watch. I need to find someone I can trust with this…"_

* * *

The magic table in the center of the room flashed again and the image of Alagaesia changed, turning into a dragon's-view of Aroughs. Eragon could see multiple gates, white buildings and a high, sturdy wall. The UNSC Captain Wren pointed at the surrounding areas and started explaining his plan. "We'll take the city with minimal casualties on the enemy's side. It is of no tactical worth to Galbatorix."

"How will you do this?" asked Ajihad. "It is too fortified for a direct attack and we can't afford to diverge all of our troops."

"That won't be necessary. We'll insert two Scorpion Main Battle Tanks to breach their walls and gates from two directions, after which we'll send them an order to surrender. If they don't, we will drop Sierra zero-zero-seven in with a squad of ODST's and capture their leader."

What was a "sierra"? There was a string of numbers at the end, so did he mean Spartan? Was Sierra his real name? There were a lot of names there that he didn't understand, actually. Why would two scorpions be able to breach the walls?

Eragon wasn't the only one who didn't understand. He caught Arya and Orik exchanging a confused glance and the queen frowned.

"A squad does not sound like a very big number," said Ajihad. "Unless it means "a giant army" it won't do us any good.

The Spartan observed the ridge and said, "This ledge is an excellent position for shelling, sir. It can overlook one half of the city."

"And the other half will be covered from this open field here, I take it?" replied Wren.

"Yes sir."

"Good. This is where your forces come in. Whoever reigns Aroughs need a familiar face to surrender to. That should be one you, Eragon and Arya. Preferably both."

Eragon heard his name and tore his gaze away from the magic table. Hopefully nobody noticed him staring away while they were explaining the plan. "I'm ready," he said.

"As am I," said Arya.

"Good. This will be a simple Operation. Once the city is under the Varden's control, we can move on to more pressing matters."

"The distribution and overseeing of Aroughs," said Ajihad.

"Exactly."

"Even if the enemy surrenders, there will be no saying who is sworn to the king and who is not."

Wren crossed his arms. "Why does that matter?"

Islanzadí smiled. "It appears the Captain is not all-knowing. Do you not know of the binding properties of the elven language?"

"Elven language? Right, the Ancient Language. What about it?"

Eragon did not like the way the queen looked. He had not agreed with the way Wren had treated her, but both Ajihad as Islanzadí had done the same thing to _him_. And he knew that the predatory smile on the queen's face could hold many emotions, not one of them simple.

"In our language, you are bound by magic if you speak. What you speak is the truth, therefore it becomes impossible to tell a lie."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning," said Ajihad, "if a soldier swears on the ancient language that he will always serve Galbatorix and never surrender..."

A shadow crept over the Captain's face. "Seriously? They will be bound to never surrender?"

"Yes," Eragon said. He was feeling out of place in this conclave of kings and lords; he had always been a simple farm-worker. No matter how much Saphira's bond had changed things, he was still human. He had no knowledge of ruling anything, be it an army or a country. He didn't even want that; he just wanted life to go back to its normal, peaceful calmness. And because of that, talking to any leader was still a very awkward thing for him. "It is very hard to break such an oath. We are looking into a way to break it, but…it's not easy."

"I thought magic-users were rare here?" asked the Captain.

"They are," said Ajihad.

"How come non magic-users can swear a magic oath?"

"Such is the property of our language," Islanzadí said with no small amount of haughtiness. Eragon was certain now; he did not like the queen when someone threatened her authority.

"That sounds like a pain in the ass," said Wren. "We'll either have to execute those that won't surrender, or send them away. Personally, I don't want to waste any ammo."

"We won't kill them even if they are bound in that language," Eragon said with a loud voice. When everybody turned to look at him, he realized that he might have stepped out of his boundaries. His face grew hot and he quickly added, "If the enemy soldiers live to tell others that the Starborn warriors showed them mercy, we will gather more followers."

And then Arya surprised him actually agreeing with him. "Eragon is right. A total victory would be preferable. You said it yourself, Captain. Winning without having to fight."

He caught the elf giving him a quick glance and he smiled at her, graceful that she was still and always by his side when he needed her.

"Victory won't last long if your soldiers get stabbed in the back by a surrendering enemy," said Spartan. "We can send them away, only to combine themselves with the main army. Better to kill them all."

"That would a crime of war, young Rider," said Islanzadí. "Arya and Eragon are right. We must show that we are kinder than the Empire by showing mercy. " Her tone was much gentler this time, almost as if she was condescending a child. Whatever had happened to make her that territorial had to be limited to Captain Wren only.

At the mention of the term "crime of war", Spartan fell quiet and lowered his head again. It was not obvious to everyone, but Eragon could see it. How had Islanzadi managed to quiet him like that?

"I will leave the distribution and logistics to you then," said Wren.

"I see but one problem with this," said Jörmundur. "How will you breach walls that not even an army of a thousand men can breach? Have you some weapon that can destroy the gates, or the walls?"

"As a matter of fact, we do. We'll get to that in the morning. Now, are there any other questions?"

Hrothgar looked at the map again. "How do you intent to get your soldiers in a heavily-fortified city without the ship being shot down? I heard one of your ships crashed here in the first day, when Spartan arrived in Alagaesia. How did it crash?"

"Good point," replied the Captain. "We took fire from what we suspected was a magic source. There is only one problem; the rules that were explained to us indicated that magic is both limited by the range and energy of the caster –both of which would make a destructive attempt on India impossible." He paused. "And still we went down." He sounded mildly confused.

Islanzadí observed the table keenly, before saying, "You said to know your enemy if you wish to win a war. What do you know of magic?"

Wren clasped his hands behind his back and faced her. "Just what lady Nasuada told us and what we managed to piece together from our encounters ourselves. Which, I must admit, is not a lot."

"Then perhaps I should have of my people inform you of the attributes of magic," said the queen. "Our foe's ability lies not in his fortifications, or his numbers, but his strength in the mystic arts."

"Thank you for that offer."

"Sir," said the Spartan, "permission to speak?"

All people from Alagaesia fell silent as they heard that question, while Wren simply said, "granted". Eragon thought he had heard it before, but he couldn't believe it. Did soldiers with the UNSC have to ask for permission to _talk? _That was even worse than what Galbatorix did to his men!

"The Pelican took multiple…hits and we didn't…" he paused, probably realizing that he wasn't talking straight. "We could have opened fire and killed all hostiles in the area."

"Doing so would have resulted in a large amount of civilian casualties," countered Wren immediately. "Get your mind straight."

"Yes sir."

Eragon opened his mouth to protest, but he thought better of it and stayed silent. This was a military structure he was not familiar with and speaking up now could get him embossing himself at best, or antagonizing allies at worst. But it was somewhat blatant now; the Captain had just insulted his own soldier in a pretty belittling manner. Had Spartan not been a stone-cold killer himself, Eragon _would _have called the Captain out for it. But seeing as the two soldiers both had a knack for insulting those in power, he decided to let it go.

But he did not like this Captain. The way he had treated Ajihad and Nasuada so short after the battle, the way he insulted the queen of the elves by calling her out on her actions of all things…it was something that Eragon didn't think anyone had the right to do. He understood that these people had fought a long and desperate war and that those experiences would haunt them forever. Perhaps because of that, Wren and Spartan wanted to make sure that it wouldn't happen to anyone else. Maybe to them, the Varden's attempts at rebellion were laughable. But people had died for that rebellion; good people who had not deserved to die. And while the UNSC weren't making fun of them in any way, they should act with more respect.

"We shall see how this siege of Aroughs go," Ajihad said with a weary sigh. "But for now, we should focus on-"

Eragon's stomach rumbled loudly and he felt his ears flushing with heat. He tried to mask it with a small cough, but it didn't fool anyone.

"-eating, apparently," Ajihad hesitantly finished.

Eragon quickly tried to apologize, but Jörmundur laughed it away. "Good choice, boy. A soldier marches on his stomach and we haven't had anything since the battle."

"I don't-"

"We have food in the mess hall," said Wren. "We've pulled you away from your stations, the least we could do is be a good host and supply the meals."

"An excellent suggestion," replied Ajihad. "Thinking and fighting on an empty stomach borders on the foolish."

Much to Eragon's surprise, Arya agreed. "I would accept your invitation," she said. "And I am certain that my mother would take the opportunity as well. After all, it has been a while since she has last dined with a small company."

Eragon dared a glance at Islanzadí and saw that she didn't look very amused. But she kept her calm and grace and replied, "That sounds like a pleasant idea, Arya."

He did not know what was going on there. There was obviously still some bad blood between Arya and her mother, but he did not know why they choose to make it look so…civilized. It had to be an elf –thing; he never understood elf-things.

But he forgot his worries about the behaviour of his allies as soon as he stepped into the mess hall again. It was a cavernous room, only limited in its capacity to hold dragons by its height. He had no doubt that the place could hold a hundred soldiers at the same time. There were lots of grey pillars though and the walls were covered with strange, intricate machines. The hall was deserted. The soldiers were probably mobilizing for war. Not even Spartan joined them.

There was a smaller room in the back, which had some sort of counter in front of it. Again, nobody was present. Where was everybody?

"How are we supposed to do this?" Jörmundur said as he stared at one of the metal tables.

"I have no idea," replied Ajihad. "The logic these people can comfrey is beyond me."

"Their plans do make sense though," said Arya. "I just wonder how they plan to breach Arough's walls. I have seen that city; nothing short of an army shall breach it."

"If the UNSC's engines of war are as impressive as their crafts, we shall win this war with ease. The Oath-breaker and his followers will never see it coming," said Islanzadí, actually startling Eragon somewhat. He had never seen her as a lady of war, yet here she was, talking about this massive conflict like it was a small duel to win. And what was that about the king's followers? He always _forced _his people to follow them. They should not enact revenge on the innocent people who lived under the king's rule. That would make them as bad as he was.

"War or not, I am hungry," the dwarf Hedin commented abruptly. "How do we eat?"

"You see Hedin," Eragon said with a small smile, "you start by opening your mouth…"

Dwarf was not amused. But before he could say anything, a metal door slid apart on the far side of the room. And from that door entered a bald man in what looked like standard-issue UNSC clothing. It was black, striped with grey and donned with several dark pieces of armour. He entered the room holding a strange, translucent device. He looked up, saw the group of people sitting in the mess hall and nearly dropped his device.

"I'll be a monkey's uncle," cried the man. He stared at them, before quietly muttering, "Alright then." It was not meant for them to hear, as he was obviously trying to calm himself, but Eragon couldn't help but hear what he said with his sensitive ears. Who was this man?

"Whose uncle?" asked Ajihad quietly. Hedin shrugged.

"I'm Chef Walker," said the bald man. "I guess you're the group Captain Wren mentioned?"

"I would guess so," replied Eragon.

"Yeah, I'm here to instruct you on the usage of the dispensers. The skipper couldn't join you for dinner, but-"

"Excuse me, dispensers? Are there no cooks?" asked Arya.

"Oh I'm a cook alright," said Walker with a faint grin. Eragon wasn't too sure whether that grin was because of the beauty of the elves, or because of some inside joke. "But with an understaffed kitchen, you can either use the dispensers, or wait an hour until I've cooked up a stew for you all." He paused, then added, "Your kinds _can _eat normal food, right?"

Arya blinked a few times and stared at Hedin, who huffed indignantly.

"Our _kinds_?" demanded the queen, the tips of her ears tuning red.

Eragon agreed that it was a poor choice of words. But the chef was even less fazed by her than the Captain, if that was at all possible.

"Lady, I may not have paid much attention during biology classes, but even I know that certain species cannot eat certain food," he said, wandering towards one of the machines at the wall. "I should know; it's the one thing I specialize in. Preventing soldiers from dying by being good at cooking."

"Dogs die if they consume mead or beer," said Eragon, more to the queen than to the chef. He only addressed him with the second part. "But rest assured; dwarves, elves and humans are too much alike to be harmed by each other's food." He should know that as well; he had learned that from Oromis's scrolls.

"If you say so, kid," said the chef. He was processing all this a lot faster than Wren or Spartan had. "Now if will all pay attention, I will teach you the magic of modern-day snacks. You press the "food" button once and then choose which meal you want to take. Then you press the blue button and receive your dinner. Easy as pie."

"How does a _wall _produce food?" asked Jörmundur.

"Didn't you listen?" said the chef. "You press a button, press a button and press a button."

Eragon decided that he would try it. While the two elves didn't look like they were ready to do_ anything _regarding the piece of technology in the wall, he was more than happy to try it out. This new level of technology and wonders was far beyond his wildest dreams and he wanted to take in every moment he could. He glanced at the bored chef, who stood with his arms crossed, before trying the machine.

Hedin and Hrothgar were eyeing him with uncanny interest and Arya looked worried, as if the machine would try to kill them all.

And when it turned out that the dispenser could not "dispense" anything vegetarian, that worry turned into blatant dissatisfaction. When questioned about the lack of animal products, the chef shrugged.

"Protein-rich food is an absolute must on the battlefield," said the chef. "Besides; most of this dispensed stuff is either soy-based or flash-cloned. That's about the same amount of murdered animals as eating a flower."

Eragon did not know what most of those words meant, but he didn't care. The so-called "cheeseburger" that had been "dispensed" tasted good enough.

* * *

**Position east of Aroughs -06:43 **

Secret-Spartan zero-zero-seven gently padded the dragon beside him on her neck as the two of them watched out over the open field that would be their operational area. In the middle of the plains lay Aroughs, a city with white walls and tall buildings. There were a few smaller estates and farms scattered in the area around it, but apart from that, the area was a perfect area for snipers and artillery. A perfect killzone to turn the tides of this war. The sun had yet to rise, meaning that the land was still bathed in the dark cloak of night.

He yearned to strike. To rush down the hill, guns blazing, and single-handedly destroy the armies of the Empire that would await him. The foe could never beat him; their weapons could not as much as scratch his armour, their magic was no match for his and he could kill even the toughest soldier with a single punch. It would be _so _easy for him to take out the Empire single-handedly. There wasn't anybody left to stop him if he wanted to.

Maine took a deep breath and forced himself to recall a certain fight that had gone somewhere along that line. Namely, the Flood on installation zero-five. And later, when most of the Secret-Spartans had been recalled to Earth to aid in the final battle against the Covenant. He had fired enough ammo to empty a dozen assault rifles, spent enough plasma batteries to support an entire Covenant division.

But this would not be like that. The Flood was dead and gone, the Covenant had split up and fallen apart. The Empire of Galbatorix was just another unimportant threat; less than the Innies. He could liberate this entire country on his own. Besides; with magic, the elves could probably band together and overwhelm him. So there was no reason to worry.

Behind him stood the newly upgraded M909B Main Battle Tank, otherwise known as the scorpion. Its hind-mounted turret and four tracks made it look like the indigenous arachnid, with all of its lethality and cold precision. In a high-explosive variant, of course. This tank was upgraded with an M310 "120 mm smooth-bore high-velocity cannon", high-reactive armour and several other smaller-profile upgrades that would show themselves in combat. The smooth-bore cannon enabled the rounds fired by the tank to travel with a significantly higher speed than normal, rifled barrels.

He could appreciate the sight of a Scorpion MBT. Back in the Human-Covenant war, its appearance meant the destruction of enemy armour that not even the ODST's had been capable of demolishing, barring Spartans. Controlled by one person and capable of laying waste to an entire battalion, a single Scorpion could turn this war into a rout.

The two marines piloting the tank, named Whiskey-Alpha and Whiskey-Bravo, would spearhead the assault on Aroughs, assisted by Eragon, Arya, Second Lieutenant Riley and himself. Whiskey was going to drive all the way towards the center of the city, where the four of them would protect it from swarming infantry. Whiskey-Bravo was manning the turret on top of the tank, which was fully capable of cutting down all but the most heavily-armoured infantry units, but accidents were prone to happening. He had seen enough Scorpion overwhelmed to know that they needed support-fire in rural areas. Any sniper could take out the gunner, after which foot-mobiles could approach the tank uncontested. They were going to prevent that.

Of course, the Second Lieutenant knew that. She was standing at the ready, her Battle Rifle at the ready. Eragon and Arya still needed to be informed of that though. They were currently undergoing what Riley had jokingly referred to as a "fashion makeover", though Maine had not understood that reference until he had seen the two sleepy Alagaesians be marched over to the Destroyer's armory, fifteen minutes ago. He hadn't seen the makeover, as he had gone ahead to the surface to oversee the preparations, but they could be coming down per Pelican any minute now.

Behind him, the Marine Lieutenant was holding a conversation with an energetic tank driver.

"So did you load the Shrapnel canisters?"

"Sure did, Ma'am. Unless the soldiers in that town are wearing flak-vests when we come knocking, they won't know what hit 'em."

"What about civilians?"

"We´ll be sending someone to the city to give them the chance to either surrender or evacuate. Of course, Vodka thinks it´s smarter to lure their army out in the open."

The Spartan sighed. Who came up with those callsigns?"

A Pelican Dropship approached them and touched down a dozen meters to their right, dropping off a sniper, Arya and Eragon. All three of them were clad in the upgraded Marine BDU, which closely resembled the ODST package. The Spartan could instantly see which one was the sniper (the one carrying himself with a hint of assurance and precise steps) and which ones were the elf and Rider (the ones either stumbling around or taking small, careful steps).

The sniper approached Maine and saluted. "Graveyard, reporting for duty." He sounded serious, with a calm and somewhat heavy voice. He sounded a bit like Math.

For a moment, he wondered if he was going to see his friend again. But he banished that worry and addressed the trio of soldiers, while Whiskey and Riley snapped to attention.

"Listen up. Aroughs is going to get _one _chance to surrender." He gestured to the city, where the gates were opening to reveal a large army. Corporal Hudson and Sergeant Wilks were mounting a Mongoose to quickly close in on their commander to give the message. If they were lucky, the soldiers were too busy gawking at the Destroyer to spot the two Scorpions. "If they take it, we march down their city to take their leader. If they don't take it, we march down their city to take their leader. Graveyard-"

The sniper raised his head somewhat upon hearing his callsign.

"-is going to provide covering fire. Whiskey-" He gestured to the tank, where the gunner waved at them – "Will be our ticket in. Arya, Eragon, it is our job to make sure they make it intact to the citadel."

"There's an actual person inside of that?" Eragon asked, sounding somewhat muffled by the sealing helmet on top of his head.

"Yes. Make sure he remains intact. Vodka will remain at the hill, protected by a similar escort. You two were outfitted with wrist-mounted laser designators, correct?"

Arya clasped her hands behind her back and raised her chin, already assuming a disciplined stance in her new suit. "Yes."

Eragon looked at her. "What are lasers?"

"Lights. Didn't you pay attention?"

"Sorry, I was distracted by the headbutts-display."

"Heads-up display," Maine corrected the boy, feeling somewhat amused. "You were outfitted with a blue and red light, sniper-support and tank-support respectively. If you run into opposition you can't clear out on your own, you lock onto the target with the laser designator for support. Questions?"

Unsurprisingly, Eragon raised his hand. "Whiskey is a tank, right? So what does "sniper" mean?"

Graveyard spoke up. "You shine that light at any face you don't like and I'll blow it off for you."

"From this distance?" asked Arya.

"From this distance," said Graveyard. "I'll be serving overwatch from the Pelican."

"You'll see a small square when your HUD has accepted the target," said Maine. "Graveyard's HUD will then notify him. The same goes for Vodka, but be advised that a lock is a lock. If you flare a building with civvies with the red laser, Vodka will fire. If you flare Arya with the red laser, Vodka _might _fire."

The two stayed quiet as the sniper got onto the ship. For a moment, Maine felt worried that they were going to mix medieval and modern warfare together. But neither Arya nor Eragon could become good shots with any firearm they were given, so arming them with UNSC-grade weapons would be stupid. Their armour could protect them from small-arms fire and even one or two direct plasma shots. It would certainly protect them against blades and arrows.

Actually, this operation was much more complicated than was necessary. Normally, there was no designated tank support to call in. But Wren had organized it like this, so it would go like this. He had stayed behind on the _When Duty Ends_, together with Islanzadí, Daenlith and Ajihad.

The Spartan heard the familiar whining of a Mongoose-claxon and he looked down at the field again. Archers were firing arrows at the retreating Hudson and Wilks and the cheeky Corporal was spamming the claxon to inform them of the destruction of negotiations. Behind them, an army that easily contained a few hundred soldiers was pouring out of the gate, platoon after platoon, followed by cavalry.

It was time for action.

"Whiskey, send a Shrapnel-load downrange to scatter that army. Vodka, be advised, there might be civvies in that city."

The reply was immediate. "_Copy that sir. Vodka has eyes on a large column of foot-mobiles leaving the city. They appear to be noncombatants. Orders, sir?"_

"Wait until they have cleared the blast-radius and then blow the gate. Stand by for laser-support."

"_Vodka copies all."_

Aeraleth spread her wings and snorted. '_What use does a dragon hold in a fight where even one soldier can kill them?'_ she demanded, sounding insulted. '_How will I support you when I need to fear our allies?'_

She was right. Dragons were useless in this fight. But she _had _learned how to breathe fire…so the UNSC would not need to deploy plasma-weaponry. '_Your time will come. Remember what Raia said? There will be more Lethrblaka. There will be more Shades.'_

'_It is not about fighting the enemy. It is about you, and keeping my eyes on you. How will I do that if you are riding a hunk of metal instead of me?'_

'_Be patient. Oromis said that we need to be able to operate apart from each other. Why don't you go join Saphira or Thorn?'_

'_Saphira is as restless as I am and Thorn is spending time with Murtagh. There are three of us, why will you not let us torch the city? A dragon can do so much more than an oversized rock.'_

He supposed that she was referring to the Scorpion as a rock. Said Scorpion chose that moment to open fire, pumping a Shrapnel Canister into the enemy army and creating an explosion easily a dozen meters wide, dropping about half a hundred men with the initial blast and a few dozen more with the subsequent shrapnel. The canisters were filled with hot metal, which would fracture and explode outwards with a lethality that would put the world's largest frag grenade to shame. It was an ideal anti-infantry and anti-structure weapon.

With a massive hole carved into the Imperial army, Aeraleth fell quiet and the army stopped.

Maine waited for three seconds before giving the signal. "Arya, Eragon, mount up. Whiskey, blow that gate."

"_Yes sir."_

The two Alagaesians sped towards the Scorpion and jumped on top of tracks, as lithe as a pair of cats. The suit did not diminish Arya's elegance in any way and Eragon, augmented in the forest, was slowly regaining a good control over his body. Now he was every bit as controlled and graceful as he was back when he was still human and the Spartan held no doubts that that would only improve to the level of the other elves with more training.

Still not Spartan-level though.

Whiskey-Bravo gestured for Eragon to move to the front left, while he instructed Arya to go to the front right. Riley was already sitting on the hind left track, taking potshots at the still-recovering enemy. Alpha opened fire again and sent a 120 mm round towards the city, which covered the 300-meters distance within a fraction of a second and blasted the gates to bits just as they were closing again. The walls collapsed around the ruined opening and the archers stationed at the top crashed to the ground as the stone underneath their feet crumbled into nothingness. The screams of the combined two shots were very audible and Maine caught Eragon wincing and averting his head.

'_Like I said, Aeraleth. Sit this one out.'_

'_I do not like being replaced by metal birds and steel carts.'_

'_Nobody can ever replace you.'_

She did not reply, but she did send him a flash of worry and a hint of satisfaction. He shared her satisfaction; finally he could take part in war as he knew it.

Whiskey-Bravo opened fire with the machinegun and tore through the first line of feeble soldiers with the powerful AP-rounds, tearing through their chainmail-armour with the relative ease of an energy sword cutting through flesh. Including the opening canister-shot, the death-toll of the enemy quickly rose to double, then triple digits. Half a minute after having rejected their chance for peace, the enemy army was in disarray. They were falling left and right, with no cover or chance of survival. Some of them threw their weapons aside and dove to the ground, either surrendering or cowering. Those were not targeted.

The Spartan knew that these were just soldiers defending their homes. That they might have been forced to serve Galbatorix by binding oaths. But he ignored those thoughts and focused on what needed to be done. With his Assault Rifle, he finished the soldiers that were the closest to the tank. He had to admit that second Lieutenant Riley was a crack shot with her battle rifle. Occasionally he glanced her way to see how she was doing and everytime he did, she scored another kill without missing a single shot.

Whiskey rolled towards the ruined gates faster than any horse could sprint and smashed straight through the rubble and debris that was blocking its way. Small shards of stone bounced off of his should as the tank emerged on the other side of what had once been a sturdy gate. The remnants of the army they had destroyed was scattering and running, having just witnessed what might go for the wrath of a god tear through their ranks.

Once again, Maine felt what it must feel like to be a Covenant party wiping out UNSC forces with superior forces and firepower. He was not too sure if he liked it.

The Scorpion rolled onto the streets and was immediately attacked by soldiers with bows and arrows, emerging from houses and other structures in an attempt to ambush them. As he returned fire, killing half a dozen within two seconds, his radio received an incoming signal.

"This is Sierra zero-zero-seven," he said as he shot a charging horseman.

"_Captain Wren here. I think I might have figured something out. I´m coming your way with a Pelican, clear a landing zone in the town-square."_

"Sir with respect, you should not come to an active combat-zone. There are hostiles here and magicians might have been tasked with-"

"_It wasn't a suggestion, Spartan. Do it."_

He sighed. "Yes sir." To Arya and Eragon, he said, "There's been a change of plan. You two will defend Whiskey as they push on. Lieutenant, with me. We're clearing a landing-zone.

Riley did not protest once. "Yes sir."

"Spartan, where are you going?" called Eragon as the tank blew up a house that offered refuge to a large group of soldiers.

"Captain's said he has an idea. We're going to clear him a zone to land. Now move it." He orientated himself towards middle of the city, where he had spotted a large opening. That would be his target. If Wren wanted a landing-zone, he would get the best one Aroughs had to offer. But the man had better have a good reason for coming down on his own; he was risking far more than his own life by visiting an ongoing conflict.

* * *

Eragon watched his fellow Rider leave and understood that he and Arya had just been entrusted a very important task. Sure, this "Whiskey" was more than capable of holding their own, but that did not guarantee anything. The massive, steel wagon was a force that held more destructive capabilities than a dragon could ever have. Aroughs, famed for its strong walls and nigh-impenetrable gates, had just fallen to one shot of…whatever it was that Whiskey shot. That such a monstrous thing could be piloted by just one man was not even the strangest thing he had seen with this Scorpion.

The strangest thing was the level of destruction that it left behind. The trail of death and gore. An explosion larger than he had ever seen before and a moment later, dozens of men had died. He was starting to realize the scale behind the wars that this UNSC fought and he could feel his enthusiasm slowly turning to horror. The ease of this invasion was disturbing; Whiskey-Bravo and his large gun made short work of anyone that approached them and the tank never slowed down. It was like fighting from the back of a horse, only the horse was crushing houses and buildings like they were made out of twigs and capable of shooting a dragon out of the air with a single shot.

Every now and then, Arya would relay instructions to the Whiskey-Alpha man, who took her orders with surprising ease. She was so much better at this than he was; already Arya had mastered the usage of the intricate and mysterious "radio', capable of functioning just like mental speech. She sounded calm and unfazed by what was going on, but that could have also been because she either ignored her feelings, or just hardened herself against them.

Just before, Bravo had instructed them in radio-speech. He had told them to make their instructions "short and sweet" as they pointed out targets.

"_Enemy crossbows in the two-story building, next to the tavern_," Arya said as a metal bolt bounced off of one of the tracks without leaving a dent. This stuff was even tougher than the egg of a dragon!

"_Engaging,"_ said Alpha. A second later, the large cannon turned towards the house Arya had talked about. The Whiskey shook as a projectile exploded out the barrel and impacted instantly on the wooden house, turning it into a collection of splinters and timber.

"_Man I could do this all day,"_ said Bravo, dismissing the dozens of deaths they caused with a cheerful sentence. His weapon barked once more and a hundred feet away, a group of soldiers were cut down.

Eragon tapped into the radio and accidentally sent a message on a channel to Spartan. By then, Arya had caught the target he wanted to take out as well.

"_Possible magician in the small tavern, between the two black houses."_

"_Copy, engaging target in-between black houses."_

Every now and then, they would hear the booming discharge of Vodka hitting a target. Eragon even used his blue laser to test Graveyard's skill with his weapon two times; both times the soldier managed to shoot his lasered target in the head one or two seconds after the tag.

"_Enemy soldiers approaching from the west."_

"_Arya, confirm? We don't have eyes on said forces."_

"_Magic," _the elf simply said. "_They are coming into view in a few moments."_

True enough, a band of soldiers charged into the open and were promptly cut down by Whiskey-Bravo.

"_You are a beautiful spotter, Arya," _commented Whiskey-Alpha.

Someone wearing a black cloak appeared on the road ahead and Eragon recognized him as a magician. He frowned and lashed out at the man with his own mind, seeking to overwhelm his defenses. Any elf could have done it, but he was only elf in body. In his mind, he was still human. Because of that, he had not grown more effective in mental warfare. But that did not matter. Arya joined her thoughts with his and overwhelmed the man's defenses without missing a beat, guiding his own probes to where they were the most effective.

They killed the magician before he could harm Whiskey, but his sudden appearance was too strange for Eragon to ignore. Most of the enemy soldiers had retreated to a better defendable position in the town, so where were-

"_Hostiles above!" _Graveyard called out and Arya spun around, her sword at the ready. A group of soldiers appeared on the roofs of the houses they had intentionally left intact. There were ten of them, all heavily armoured and armed with axes. Eragon cursed and reached for his magic even as the group of soldiers jumped for them.

Three cracks of thunder split the air and the three closest soldiers went limp in mid-air, thin sprays of blood exiting through round holes in their armour. Eragon had no time to thank Graveyard, who was still guarding them from the sky, because the seven remaining men landed on Whiskey.

Arya immediately stabbed one through the chest and pushed another off and Eragon moved to guard Bravo. The gunner could not fire behind him with the cannon, or he would hit his own Whiskey. But that made him vulnerable. Two men slashed at him and Eragon parried their blows, positioning himself above Bravo to defend him.

The gunner cursed and attempted to jump out of his seat, but Eragon pushed him out of the way and an axe narrowly missed him. That maneuver left him in a danger position though; he was not used to fighting in this armour and his own movements were jerkier than he was used to. As he prevented Bravo from being hit in the shoulder by an axe, he left himself open to a counter attack.

The massive blade came down, brushed his sword aside and impacted on his arm, which Eragon raised to protect himself. But the steel simply bounced off the armoured greave and created a perfect opening that he himself could utilize. He slew the last two men and checked the place on his arm were he had been struck by the axe.

Not a dent. Not even a scratch. This armour was amazing!

"Everyone alright?" asked Arya, wiping some blood off of her dark visor.

"I'm still in one piece," the gunner said, putting his own weapon away. He did not use the radio. "Damn, that was close. This is why we normally blow up every place that can hold bad guys."

"There can still be innocent people here," said Eragon. "And we won't destroy their houses; we are better than that."

"Nonetheless, those guys cut it way too close. Thanks for the help though."

Eragon had never heard a Starborn soldier thanking someone before, so he did not know how to reply to that except for a simple, "you're welcome". Thankfully, Graveyard provided the distraction they all needed.

"_Whiskey, be advised, those hostiles appeared out of nowhere. Repeat, out of nowhere."_

"_Magic,"_ Arya said immediately. _"There must still be a magician nearby."_

"Not just any magician," Eragon replied, feeling an oppressive presence. "No human could hide that many warriors with magic. I doubt even an elf could do it."

"A Shade? Again?" exclaimed Arya. "Where does the Oath-breaker _get _all of those accursed monsters!"

Eragon remembered Raia. "I don't think the Shades have much say in it."

A second later, another figure jumped on top of the Whiskey, one who even Arya could not have seen. Eragon caught a glimpse of short, red hair and a black-clad body, before a boot impacted on his head and sent him tumbling backwards. He slammed against the cannon of the Whiskey and immediately recovered, his armour saving him from the brunt of the attack. He retaliated and slashed at the Shade that had ambushed them, driving him right back. Arya was balancing perilously close to the edge of the track and the Shade had just been about to push her off.

But Eragon was faster. He forced the vile creature to back off and drove him away from his friend, yelling in anger.

Bravo cursed as the Shade stepped on his head during his retreat and protected himself with his arms as Eragon moved forwards.

"Will you two knock it off!"

But the Shade pressed on and whipped his blade around, forcing Eragon to take a step back to create more room.

"Hey, I'm trying to shoot here!"

Eragon cursed under his breath as he nearly fell. Who in their right mind would design a gunner-hole like that? "Arya," he called as the elf crawled back onto the Whiskey. He exchanged more blows with the Shade, which was not as gifted as Durza in the arts of the sword. But the moment the maroon-haired monstrosity attacked him in his mind, he knew that the sword-arm of his foe did not matter. It was the sheer oppressive nature of the spirits that could overwhelm his defenses and render him incapable of fighting.

Arya grabbed the Shade by his shoulders and pulled him away, but the creature whirled his sword around and slashed at Arya, striking her on her chest. Again the armour proved to be much more capable than anything he had seen before; his sword bounced off of the chestplate and smashed into them plating on top of their vehicle, giving Arya a chance to retaliate –and go even farther than that. She used the moment of hesitation and confusion to punch him in his face and stab him in the gut with her own blade, before forcing him to the side of the Whiskey and slammed him into the cannon.

Eragon knew that he had a split-second to act and activated his blue laser, aiming it right at the Shade's heart.

A second later, Graveyard sent a shot straight through the Shade's torso, completely ruining its chest-cavity and shearing its heart into little pieces.

"_Target neutralized." _

The creature started screaming and Arya pulled her sword free. Eragon then walked up to the ruined collection of spirits, knowing that Shades would no longer serve a major threat to the war-effort again. "Get off our Whiskey," he snapped, before kicking its dying body off of their vehicle.

"What the hell," cried Bravo. "Was that a Shade? Did you just stop-kick it off the tank?"

Arya looked behind them as Whiskey accelerated again, surging them forwards once more. "He's dead," she declared.

Eragon released his pent-up breath and forced himself to relax. "That solves the mystery of the cloaked soldiers," he said. He attempted to remove his helmet, but Bravo stopped him.

"Keep that thing on, kid. Never take off your protection in a warzone."

Quickly dropping his arms again, Eragon said down and surveyed the area again. "_Thanks for your help, Graveyard."_

The sniper did not reply.

Occasionally, they heard the thundering roar of another vehicle firing at some unfortunate enemy and Eragon heard the constant clattering of Spartan firing his gun. He had no idea what sort of idea Captain Wren had, but he hoped that it would be worth it for the Rider to abandon them like that.

Their vehicle smashed through another two houses and reached a new point in the city, where a large group of soldiers was waiting for them. Eragon saw that they looked fearful and hesitant and when he touched their minds, he felt their absolute dread at their appearance.

_This must end_, he thought. They were not going to become like Galbatorix.

"Halt!" yelled one of the men in a rather high-pitched voice. "You won't go further, vile thing!"

Eragon imagined how they must look like from the soldier's point of view. A large, olive-coloured dragon without a head or wings was tearing through Aroughs, killing dozens of people with single shots, ridden by a trio of creatures with reflective gems for faces. He now knew that they were in fact visors and that they were very useful, but these people did not know that.

So he took his helmet off stepped off the vehicle, making sure that the people saw he was unarmed.

"My name is Eragon Shadeslayer. We do not wish to harm you," he said. "We only wish to stop king Galbatorix from causing more harm!"

"What is that _monster_ you are riding, then?" screamed another soldier. Eragon noticed that a majority of soldiers looked as young as himself. How many children had Spartan and Whiskey murdered today? "And that…that _thing _in the skies? Have the gods come to punish us?"

They did not look like they were going to be convinced easily. Eragon knew what to do. "Not the gods," he said. "They are people from beyond the stars, with power and technology far beyond Alagaesia. They build more advanced than the dwarves, are wiser and more intelligent than the elves and more powerful than the Riders ever were." He waited a few moments to let that sink in. "And without ever meeting the Varden, they have decided that the king is a danger to this land. They will fight him and bring him to justice."

The soldiers started whispering and one of them muttered, "The king did send a Shade here. Sorrow was reaped the moment it arrived."

Another said, "I have not seen my children in months. My friend had his children _taken _by the army to serve."

"Just lay down your arms," said Eragon. "I am here to make sure that nobody else dies. You will be protected and fed if you simply surrender."

"We cannot surrender, Shadeslayer," said one of the soldiers, not without a small amount of panic. "We were forced to swear oaths! Where does that leave us?"

"I am working with the queen of the elves to find a way to free you from your oaths," he said. "If you are not compelled to attack us, you will be left alone."

The UNSC chose that moment to interfere as well. One of their ships descended and landed somewhere to their west, where Spartan and the lady had gone. That caused the necessary ruckus in the lines of the enemy; soldiers simply threw down their weapons and dropped to their knees at the mere sign of the craft.

"How are you so certain that they will defeat the king?" asked one of them. "If they fail, my family will pay for it!"

Others joined him, agreeing with his logic and pointing out that they were staking everything on Eragon's claim. He felt guilty for tricking them into this, but it was the only way to make this go away without bloodshed.

"_Heads up, friendlies approaching from your nine," _said a voice on the radio,

"_Copy that. Good to have you here, sir."_

"Their enemies have destroyed entire worlds," said Eragon. He felt a shiver running down his spine as he said that. "And the Starborn have emerged victorious. They are warriors in heart and soul. The king doesn't stand a chance."

Captain Wren and the female soldier emerged from an alley to the west. The soldiers that were still armed pointed their weapons at them, but most of the men immediately lowered their arms upon seeing the weapons of the UNSC soldiers.

And Eragon heard them whispering again. Whispering about demons and devils and monsters.

"Eragon," said Captain Wren. He was wearing the same armour as the rest of the UNSC soldiers. "Sitrep."

"_That means situation report," _Whiskey Bravo quickly told him.

He swallowed and nervously said, "We defeated a Shade on our way here. These men were about to surrender." For some reason, he felt more uncomfortable and uneasy when Wren was addressing him than with Ajihad or even Islanzadí.

"Good." The Captain faced the crowd of soldiers, getting awfully close to their ranks as he inspected them. "Which one of you can use magic?"

"Who are you?" asked a bold soldier.

"I am the man in charge of this vehicle, the vessel in the sky and all the Starborn soldiers on Alagaesia. You will address to me as "sir" only if you want to live to see tomorrow."

The Imperial soldier lowered his head and looked away.

"I will not ask again. Which one of you can use magic?"

A young-looking soldier stepped forwards. "None, sir. Magicians are rare and wear robes."

Eragon did not know if Wren was looking at the kid or simply looking past him, but even a hardened man like him would show mercy to children, right?

He felt Arya making mental contact with him and he immediately allowed her in. '_Eragon, I will not stand idly by if the UNSC starts murdering these people. There are children with them!'_

'_I know. But I don't think it will come to that,'_ Eragon replied. '_Even they should know when to show mercy.'_

"So none of you can use magic, but all of you are bound by oaths?"

"Yes, sir." Something about the Captain seemed to intimate these men greatly; even though they were with at least a hundred men, they all stood like docile kittens. Though that might have something to do with Whiskey.

"And oaths are made in the Ancient Language, the language of magic. Tell me; how is it that you can be magically bonded to your word without having magic powers of yourself?"

That was…a very good question. How could non-magic people still feel the effect of being bound by magic?"

"Such is the power of the king, sir."

"Right. And how many soldiers are garrisoned in this city?"

"Eight-hundred, sir." The soldier who replied sharply inhaled and placed his hands in front of his mouth, as if he had just spewed profanity. "I –I…"

"How did you do that, Murph?" asked the man next to him. "That's secret information –the kind we were not allowed to share!"

"If you don't possess magic abilities, how can you be found by your word?" said Wren. "The answer: you can't. Only magicians can be forced to swear fealty. The rest is safe. Eragon, Arya, clean this city up. Aroughs is ours."

And as sudden as he had come, the Captain left again. Eragon could feel portions of his mind being blown apart by that logic. He had _never _looked at it like that. Never. Could it be true? Could the Varden's biggest problem be solved like that? The enemy was not truly bound by their word?

Slowly, the message started getting through to the Imperial soldiers. Those that were sitting stood up, those that were standing sat down and all of them threw their weapons aside, furious and indignity on their faces.

"That snake! He lied to us!"

"I was told that I could never be free of the Empire!"

"He said that I would be forced to serve him!"

The true nature of their king was revealed and Eragon felt a massive burden falling off his shoulders, making him feel like they had just won the war. Galbatorix had lied! He had lied to his subjects by telling them that they were bound by a rule of nature that did not even apply to them! And in doing so, he had laid the foundations for his own demise. This was a major victory.

"Well, what are you still doing there?" cried Eragon. He felt like his feelings of relief and happiness would explode from his stomach if he remained quiet and calm now. "Go on, spread the word! The king has lied!"

The soldiers didn't need to be told twice. Their outrage at having been lied to turned into open relief that their lives would be spared and they all scattered to seek out their comrades, to tell them the truth.

Eragon crossed his arms and looked as the soldiers dispersed, feeling proud of himself. Arya approached him from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You have done well," she said. "Far better than anyone could have done."

He sighed. "Being a Rider does have its privileges." He turned around to hug his friend and spotted the path of destruction that they had torn through the city. The houses they had ruined, the bodies they had left…the lives they had ruined. Had the soldiers they murdered been lied to as well? Had they been killing people who believed they had no choice but to fight against superior force?

"_Vodka-Alpha here. We did not receive any signals from you, neither did the enemy move to engage us. We destroyed high-profile buildings and ruined the wall and are now awaiting further orders."_

"_Vodka-Alpha, Whiskey-Alpha. Eragon and Arya managed to convince the Imperial soldiers to uh…to defect. The Captain said we're done here."_

"_Roger, Whiskey. Signaling a Dropship now. What are your rendezvous coordinates?"_

"_No rendezvous, Vodka. We'll have to await Varden soldiers to hold this position."_

"_Roger that."_

"Eragon?" asked Arya. "Are you alright?"

"Do you think we could have convinced them to surrender without killing so many of them?" he asked. "Did we waste their lives?"

"Without the Starborn soldiers at our side, even less would have survived. Do not dwell on the deaths you cause, Eragon. You acted with mercy and avoided needless bloodshed. This is war, after all."

He nodded. "I suppose you're right. Do you think the other cities will surrender just as easily?"

Arya shook her head, slowly, solemnly. "No. Aroughs was near the borders. But the rest of the cities will be under tight Imperial control. There will be more bloodshed."

"_This is Sierra zero-zero-seven. We have captured Aroughs lord and are extracting him to a Varden-held position for negotiations. Reinforcements are fifteen mikes out."_

"_Roger that sir, hell of a job. Orders?"_

"_We're not going to risk it. Head to the staging point for extraction."_

"_Copy that."_

Well, at the very least they had won this battle with minimal bloodshed. That was something.

* * *

The sun was slowly rising. Its bright tendrils of warmth and light were creeping over the edges of Du Weldenvarden, bringing a new day to Alagaesia.

Daenlith always liked watching the sun rise. It brought her peace. It was almost symbolic, in a way. A new day had dawned and for the first time since years, she felt hope that the war would end. That the exile of the elves in their forest would be broken and that her kin would walk the surface of Alagaesia once more, like they used to. Before, she had considered Galbatorix the most dangerous being in her life. The most credible threat to her race, dooming them with extinction with his sheer presence, lest he was beaten.

And then Spartan had arrived, bringing with him the proof that there was a civilization beyond their world. Of course, she had been skeptical at first. Who would believe a tale describing people living between the stars, having mastered travel beyond realms? She knew that the elves were limited in their views, but surely they would have understood the idea beyond that at one point?

But it was the humans who had come up with the concept and not the elves. Not her people. And now, as she was standing in a room that was labeled as an "observation deck", she understood why that was. Her people were stagnant, deteriorating. Their fates had been tied to that of the dragons and with dragonkind this close to extinction, it was only to be expected that they would feel the impact. She could feel it. Arya could feel it. Their creativity was decaying, their skills declining. Tactics and ideas that were once simple, were now considered the apex of intelligence. It was humiliating and painful, but her race was perhaps the most inferior of Alagaesia. Humans had a great civilization and culture and dwarves were masterful builders…and to top it off, elves were having less and less children, causing a drop in their population as well. If Galbatorix kept his reign up, he would condemn her race to the void.

And that fear was with her every day. Each time the sun went down, that feeling of inadequacy returned. The queen ignored it, pretended that it didn't exist, but her daughter was not so foolish. Arya knew what was at stake and she fought to make sure it did not happen. That they had in common.

Though those feelings failed to creep up on her the last few nights. Her time with the Starborn soldier had brought her more hope than any act against the Empire ever had. Even now, on board of this enormous vessel, she felt secure and safe. Terrified at the potential of thousands of tons of steel floating in the sky, but hopeful. A people capable of doing _this _could perhaps develop a weapon to counter and kill the oath-breaker. She had personally witnessed what Spartan could do when fully focused on victory. And in the latest battle, she had seen a simple Starborn soldier slaughtering dozens of enemy combatants, with both ranged as melee combat.

Daenlith heard people talking outside of the room and sighed. This vessel belonged to humans and the elves were guests there. Nevertheless, she did not like it when people disturbed her. She did not mind it when Spartan did it, but others tended to annoy her. But she had no business telling them off, so she tried to block their conversation out.

"-a matter of great concern. Wren needs to be informed."

Wren? The Captain? What did he need to be informed of?

Despite herself, Daenlith could not help but feel intrigued. She had only once felt the minds of the soldiers and she had felt that they were not only well-guarded, but also hard to find. Because of that she dared not to probe them for information.

"He just too a Pelican to the surface. Why? What does he need to see?"

"I'll show you."

She heard two people walk past the room and for once, her curiosity won over her apathy. She waited until she could barely hear their footsteps and then silently left the room, following them. She quietly casted a spell to muffle her footsteps and then carefully ignored all the things around her as she followed the two soldiers deeper into the ship.

"It can't have been one of the natives; they were all in the mess hall with Walker."

"So he's a mole?"

"No, they never left the room. Cameras verified it. Whoever had the code must have been with ONI."

"That's about half the crew."

'I know."

Someone had done something that these men did not approve of. They suspected their own, so it must be something awful. Theft? A murder?

"Who was in the area?"

"Quite a few, actually. Only a few of the Captain's men were down there."

"So it might have been a spook?"

"Could be. But those people here are magic, right?"

"Bullshit if you ask me."

"It was sorta proven, remember? So one of those things had to have magicked the place."

"So we just need to capture and interrogate them all?"

"Negative. Captain said we couldn't do that."

"Shame…"

What were these people _on _about? Were they blaming elves? Eragon? Spartan?

Daenlith followed them around the corner and saw that they stopped near a door with a green image on it. One of the soldiers pressed the image and a split appeared, running vertically down the middle of the door. A heartbeat later, the two halves slid apart.

"Damn. Is that what I think it is?"

"I hope not. Wren will _not _be pleased with this."

They sounded calm and contained, yet there was a hint of alarm in their voices. If she could just catch a single glimpse of the room, she could scry it later. But the room was in the middle of a hallway, narrow enough to force her to stand behind the two men. They would see her and even if she knew how to make herself completely invisible, they would still hear her. She would need to overhear the situation for now. She had to be lucky.

"Ah shit! That's the olanzapine."

"So it is what I think it is. Guess we're boned now."

"Get the Cap' on the line, now!"

Daenlith pulled back. She had heard enough; someone had damaged some very important medicine and these people were alarmed about it. It couldn't have been Arya or Eragon, as they were currently on the surface. She had wanted to go as well, but Spartan had told her to "sit this one out". That left Islanzadí as a possible culprit, or one of the Starborn soldiers themselves. And she was more inclined to believe it was one of them, as the queen did not have any reason to cause damage to their allies. The UNSC diplomatic ways were completely foreign to her.

Yet she could not shake the feeling that something ominous was going on. If there was insubordination on this vessel, could Eragon be a target?

Could Spartan be a target? She needed to alert him of this either way.

She was halfway through the hallway when she heard one of the marines suddenly shout, "There's someone here!"

Shock and alarm she had not felt since the journey with the "Pelican" flowed into her abdomen and she started running. How had they heard her? She had been silent and unnoticeable. These soldiers could not utilize magic, could they? If they could…and they had caught her sopying on them…she was in trouble.

She wasted no time sticking around and turned to run.

* * *

"_The latest AC207 is an important new asset in the air-to-ground combat area. It is one of the first crafts outfitted with new experimental energy-shielding and primarily used to take out important targets on the ground. It is equipped with stealth-systems, flares and enough weapons to reduce a Covenant invasion to slag, should it stay intact long enough to actually open fire. It comes with two 50 mm Gatling guns capable of unloading 1000 rounds per a minute, one for the ground and one for AA purposes. It also possesses a 120 mm cannon that fires high-velocity shells with enough force to punch through an Phantom-dropship and a new, 350 mm "heavy-pounder" cannon with enough force to level a city-block. This baby comes free with any new purchase of the When Duty Ends-class Destroyer. And you get to pilot it."_

"_Hudson, you are my hero."_

"_A very wise man once taught me what ladies like."_


	28. The Art of War pt III

"_The Ancient One brings us promises of glory and ascension! Relics of power and a whole new Great Journey! Where the prophets failed to deliver, we shall not. Ready the forces, but the first one to fire on the holy land will be hung by his entrails! Now go!"_

* * *

In a starry glade, quiet and uninterrupted by any form of animals, six dark figures met. The opening in the forest was completely devoid of any intelligent life; there were no birds to sing their song into the night, no creatures that dwelled on the ground. The air was eerie and humid.

The first figure lowered her hood, which was black with purple streaks. She revealed a face many deemed attractive, with slanted eyes and thin eyebrows. Her irises were the same shade of purple as her hood and filled with malice.

"It would appear that the stories were true," she spoke with a soft, whisper-like voice.

The person across from her dropped their hood as well, revealing the same attractive face, but with yellow irises and more manly features. "Humans from the stars," he whispered, his staring eyes never leaving the face of the person across from him. "How peculiar."

The six figures had assumed a tight six-pronged formation, with in their middle a structure that looked like a large sacrificial table. Each of the six wielded a long rod that appeared to be made of wood. A single gem adorned each end.

"The ancient one spoke of this," said a third one after dropping her hood. "Their craft is visible even from this place. Their soldiers hold the strength to defeat all the races of Alagaesia."

"The solution to this riddle," said the fourth, "lies with the Arcana Archives."

The other five hissed, as if frightened. "The Archives have not been used since the war!" said a fifth one.

"We possess the blood of the ancients," said the sixth and final one. "As such, we can utilize what lies beneath the land. It is our reclamation, after all."

The first one stepped onto the altar. "It is decided then. For the sake of our race…for the sake of our future, we must bring peace through war."

"It would be an abomination."

"It would purge the land."

"But it must be done."

"So chant with me."

And the woods became filled with the singing voices of whispering trees."

* * *

**Bridge of the 'When Duty Ends', 22:43.**

"Did you or did you not lure him out?"

"Sir, at this point we don't even know who it is. It could even be a 'she'."

Adrian Wren sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you positive that they discovered it?"

First Lieutenant Mason sat with his arms crossed, leaning against the holotable. His glasses vaguely reflected the glare off of a distant screen and his expression was inscrutable. "Two marines discovered the theft roughly two hours after it happened and the last person to unlock the door did it an hour before that."

"So there's no telling who it is?"

"I'm afraid not."

Wren cursed under his breath and reached for the glass of water that stood on the table. "And we can't ask one of these magicians to check for the truth, because they aren't even supposed to know."

"Who knows? Perhaps one of our own people can be trained in magic. Perhaps this world makes it work, not these creatures."

That was actually a pretty good idea. There was just one problem. "We don't even know where this magic came from. It could be dangerous. It could have long-term problems."

"Speaking about that…" Mason grabbed a bundle of papers and handed it to Adrian. "Paperback, to prevent possible leaks. We can't trust anyone."

"Good. How much did you find out by watching them?"

"It seems that both Arya and Eragon have above-average strength, greater than the normal human. In terms of speed, their reaction-speed is only a fraction better than that of the Varden's soldiers, though their denser muscles mean they can perform much greater feats." He paused to let it sink. "To compensate, they seem to be built lightly. I guess their bones are less dense and more brittle. I would say that an elf can be killed more easily than a human in terms of blunt force, while they are more likely to resist punctures and slashes."

"Firearms?"

"No way to test it yet. I'd suggest explosive force for now."

"Good to know. Dwarves?"

"Judging by their build, both their bones and their muscles are denser. They will be harder to kill than elves. I guess the same goes for the urgals."

Wren took the dossier and placed it beside him for the moment. "Thank you. One more thing though: who do you think is the mole?"

Mason shrugged. "I have no idea. There can be no way of knowing now, can there? I'd keep an eye on everyone, just to be sure."

The Captain nodded. "That will be all."

As the First Lieutenant left the room, Wren casually brought the map of Alagaesia up again. He had had a rough day; from early in the morning working to make sure that none of the soldiers in Aroughs were going to stab the Varden's men in the back to late in the afternoon, directing all available forces and distributing goods, food and water. The mass fabricators linked to the ship's generators could generate a solid amount of ordnance when needed. The problem was that they needed metals and other chemicals for that to work. A group of dwarves were currently working on that, but he wasn't too sure if they could supply for them the ordnance they needed. Missiles and explosives could barely be replaced, so they would need to be sparse with those/

The navigational officers had taken a break. He was all alone in the bridge now, left to ponder his situation. There was a major problem onboard the _When Duty Ends, _one that he could not trust anyone with. ONI had some rivals left, even though Parangosky had made sure that all the major ones were rooted out. Hell, the Office itself had splinter factions warring with each other. Someone onboard the ship was out to sabotage their mission –to sabotage their Spartan. He did not know who, why or how, but he just knew that someone had been messing with equipment and gear for a while now.

He had taken no risks. He had made sure that the Spartan's medicine was kept safely for future administrations, as that was their foremost priority.

But that priority was also their Achilles-heel. Because of the secrecy involved with the Secret-Spartan program, the list of people that could help with this was extremely short. In fact, Mason and Takeo were about the only ones on that list.

Wren took a deep breath and brushed Mason's report about the various races that inhabited the land aside. The First Lieutenant had done an excellent job in mingling with these creatures and observing them. Should the need arise, they knew the weaknesses and strengths of their enemies. This land had so much dangers to offer; elves capable of working magic, dragons capable of laying waste to an entire city and Shades that could only be killed by a strike through the heart. It was a good thing that the majority of these strange creatures were on their side, though he wasn't entirely certain about the man called 'Murtagh'. Murtagh was bound to Galbatorix by a magical oath, but that could be changed as soon as he changed who he was. The problem was that, to these people, changing who you are seemed to be an almost impossible thing to do. In reality a single event could change who you were. A trauma, love, pain, torture. Everything could go. In the most extreme case, should the king order Murtagh back to his capital, they could capture and then force him to change who he was. But that was only for the last resort.

Aside from that, there were more urgent matters he had to worry about. Like the Forerunner structure that the Spartan had found in the forest of the elves, which had contained an AI in the form of an elf. That alone was enough to cause a ton of worries; the story of the 343 Guilty Spark from the Ark was still fresh on his mind. In the end, it had gone rampant and attacked the Master Chief, nearly preventing him from activating the Halo.

So the fact that a Forerunner AI held the appearance of an elf was pretty disturbing. Had these people tinkered with it? Were they also seen as Reclaimers? Or was this something else? Magic?

There was no way of knowing. And he knew that he shouldn't be wasting too much time trying to find it out. There were more important things to worry about; the destruction of the Imperial presence, namely. Aroughs was secured by a very successful combination of planning, tactics and overwhelming firepower. Whiskey-Bravo - Richard Meester, as known outside of combat- had put in a good word for both Eragon and Arya, saying that the two could make for excellent soldiers with some proper training. At that moment, the Captain had seriously considered staging training courses for the soldiers of the Varden. But he was not yet willing to share valuable equipment and gear with people he could not fully trust, so he had shot the idea down.

He had not forgotten about it though. Whiskey-Brave had a good synergy with the Rider and the elf. The man could continue operating with the two of them because of that reason. The next target for conquest was called Melian; a small town with a population of approximately a thousand men and women. It lay behind a rocky outcropping large enough to conceal an army, which was why Wren wanted it.

And zero-zero-seven was currently leading a large group of soldiers to liberate said city. Just an hour ago, the UNSC envoy calling for a peaceful surrender had received a very negative refusal. Not even the idea of Galbatorix's oaths being a lie could sway the people there; the lord of the city had told them that they were unwaveringly loyal to their king and that nothing would stop them from killing off all the "rebellious dogs" that dared set a foot in their land.

Wren had taken that as a challenge. If the entire town was opposed to their campaign, it called for some drastic measures. Measures such as the AC207 gunship, piloted by Flight Officer Allison and her two copilots, providing covering fire for a squadron of warthogs. The civilians weren't going anywhere and UAF's had spotted a considerable enemy force inside of the city. Bombing the city to smithereens with a few Longswords was no option, but precision bombardments were still possible with the gunship.

The attack was advancing nicely. From the bridge, he could monitor the entire battle. Even though the empire had a thousand soldiers stationed in the city, opposition was minimal. The Spartan and the two pointy-eared natives were once again outfitted with laser designators, as they were the most likely to both spot the enemy opposition as get in a position to target them. Following them were four fully outfitted warthogs, a dozen marines led by Sergeant Wilks and a hundred Varden soldiers. They were approaching the walls and Wren could spot multiple rows of archers getting ready to open fire. He and Mason had finished their business just in time; he wouldn't want to miss a sight like this.

Someone flashed the reinforced gates of the town and the AC207 opened fire. A few rounds of its 50 mm cannon were enough to completely destroy the gatehouse and sent the archers reeling. A few of them fell off into the chaotic fray below.

Next, the warthogs opened fire the moment they were close enough. The Light Anti-Air Gun on its back was designed to tear aircraft to pieces; these men didn't stand a chance.

Zero-zero-seven, Arya and Eragon led the soldiers towards the gate and Captain Wren wondered why it was that the King hadn't shown his face yet. Dragons could burn entire armies, so why hadn't the so-called 'Mad King' used his to destroy the Varden yet? It didn't make sense. He was clearly committing acts of war all across his kingdom, as evidenced by his blatant use of Shades, the Alagaesian equivalent of Spartans. So why was he still waiting?

He'd find out eventually. For now, he needed to keep a close eye on the ongoing battle, as well as figure out a way to lure the mole into a trap. Perhaps magic might be of assistance to him there-

A nearby console flickered with an audible message, cutting his string of thought.

And that was weird, because he didn't remember that console being capable of running messages. It was a nav station. So how…?

Wren approached the station and looked around. Still nobody there. Of course not; he had ordered the bridge clear for his conversation with Mason. The console was obviously flickering with a light as well as an audio signal. So…someone wanted his attention? A hacker?

He touched the console and something appeared; something he could only describe as a message. But it was caps-locked and not written with familiar UNSC origins.

"RECLAIMER. I SEE YOU. YOU KNOW ME AS GILDERIEN THE WISE. I BRING GRAVE NEWS."

Gilderien the Wise? Who was that supposed to be, a Forerunner AI?

The Captain didn't know how to react to that. The console was built with calculations and AI's on mind, not…not crude communication.

"Can you hear me?" he asked.

"I CANNOT INTERACT WITH SUCH COMMUNICATIONS."

Wren frowned. Obviously, the AI could. But he would humor it. Pissing off the only AI on the planet, one that was capable of hacking into his ship's systems, had better remain on their side. "Right." Next, he grabbed his datapad and created an uplink with the console. He typed, "Can you interact with this?"

"I CAN NOT INTERACT AT ALL. THESE ARE AFTERIMAGES, SENT IN THE BRIEFEST OF TIME-SPAN. THE DATA IS LIMITED."

Seriously? "So these are all messages?"

"THIS IS NOT OUR DIREST SUBJECT, CHILD OF MY MAKERS."

"So we can't communicate?"

"LET US CEASE THIS TOPIC, FOR OUR BRANCHES ARE GROWING IN OPPOSITE DIRECTIONS. THERE IS ANOTHER ONE, ONE WHOM HOLDS MORE POWER THAN I DO. HE SEEKS TO QUARANTINE THIS WORLD AND HAS CALLED HELP TO DO SO."

"Hold up, help? Other one? Do you mean an AI?"

"I TOLD YOU WE CANNOT COMMUNICATE. THESE ARE MERELY AFTERIMAGES. MY TIME IS LIMITED AND I MUST LEAVE NOW."

"Wait, I need more information. I have people I must protect-"

Too late. The console powered down again and left Wren in the dark. Literally and figuratively.

…Gilderien the Annoying was more like it…

* * *

**Battle for Melian, 22:46**

"To the castle!" Eragon yelled and raised his sword to rally the men of the Varden. Morale was high, higher than it had ever been before. The soldiers fought harder, fiercer and longer than in the battle of the burning plains. The city was not that large, with just a few districts and a castle controlling them. The army that had been stationed here wasn't that large either; about eight-hundred soldiers ready to fight. Normally, outnumbered eight-to-one, the Varden's men would have gotten decimated.

Another projectile slammed into the city, shaking the ground and tearing down several of the last remaining buildings. People screamed in the distance, barely audible over the constant clattering of Starborn weaponry. The shockwaves pelted Eragon and the soldiers the closest to him and he winced, feeling smaller and smaller with each impact from the steel dragon above.

The only thing that prevented them from being slaughtered was, again, the UNSC. Their weapons were too powerful, their soldiers too well trained. They had opened up the attack on Melian with an aerial bombardment that had flattened nearly half of the city, probably killing hundreds with the single strike. But they had all communicated together, in a way that was much more efficient than mentally reaching out and touching another's mind for a mental conversation. The one who ruled this city wasn't an idiot; he had abandoned one half of Melian to the Imperial soldiers, pulling the normal people out and gathering them in the other half.

And he had made a perfect target for the ship overhead. Just how the Starborn Captain had figured out that there weren't any people down there in that part of the city, he didn't know. He just knew that the opening attack (and _just _the opening) had been enough to annihilate the defending walls, outer-stationed soldiers and archers, gateways and even a dozen buildings. And all it had taken was one big shot, coming down faster than Eragon had thought possible. He didn't understand how it was possible for an object smaller than a man to destroy _so much _without magic. Even magic couldn't cut it like that; the buildings had just fallen apart like they were made out of leaves, the walls had just crumbled like they had been made out of sand.

The city had been cracked open like a chestnut; the entire front was exposed and there was a literal clear way to the castle, which had stayed miraculously unharmed. Except even that had to have been calculated with precision. The large building had been positioned in the middle of Melian and because of the way the civilian had been evacuated, nothing stood in their way.

Eragon led the men deeper into the city, where they were now commencing their attack. The initial attack had killed more than half the enemy soldiers and even as the survivors were crawling to their feet, struggling to even stand, the soldiers of the UNSC opened fire again, slaughtering the Imperial soldiers before they could even get up.

He winced and pushed the creeping thoughts out of his mind. He had killed men before and he could do it again. This was all to save the land from Galbatorix's madness. This was for a greater good.

Behind him, the four strange vehicles were wreaking absolute havoc. Their massive weapons thundered and the enemy soldiers just ceased to exist, their bodies coming apart under a hail of projectiles. Blood exploded outwards from their bodies and coated the ground with dark patches. Even in this darkness, where Eragon normally saw without too much trouble, the bright flashes of the weapons were blinding him. Their roars numbed his stomach and deafened him.

And worst of all, the Starborn soldiers were cheering as they did it. They compared each other's kills, accuracy and other things. It was sickening and worrying. This war? This fight? It was too easy. Way too easy. He didn't want each and every fight to be a struggle to the death, but this mindless slaughter? He couldn't fathom it. He couldn't wrap his head around it. All he could do was use magic to painlessly kill the wounded or dying soldiers that had somehow survived the barrage. Arya was there too, somewhere. The soldiers were all spread out and Spartan was leading his own infantry troops, dealing more death on his own than the four vehicles combined. His accuracy was almost scary to witness; every single time he fired, he killed someone. And he fired at least two times per second. The vehicles still needed to aim and sometimes they missed.

Spartan did not miss.

"Frag out!" cried one of the soldiers, before throwing a spherical device into the fray. Seconds later, it exploded with the force of dragon landing at top speed. It threw up a large cloud of dust and debris and the five men standing near it just…just came apart. One went up in a cloud of red mist, not even offering any limbs to the ground. Two others were blasted out of his sight and landed somewhere amidst the ruble and the remaining two were just blown apart.

Eragon felt his stomach churn, a sickening sensation that quickly spread through his limbs. He clawed at his helmet and attempted to undo the neck-seal, but he had no idea how to. He took a deep breath and doubled over, groaning softly and trying to remember which words to use to heal himself.

He managed to keep himself from puking his helmet off. His allies weren't as lucky. Upon seeing the enemy soldiers get ripped apart to bloody chunks by the waves of shrapnel and explosive force, at least three of them lost their meals, while the rest stopped and hesitated.

"What power," Eragon heard one mutter.

"This is brutal," another one whispered.

"Nice one," said one of the Starborn soldiers.

Eragon couldn't dwell on it, no matter how cheery or calm the people from the UNSC sounded in the face of the carnage they caused. They had a job to do here. The lord of this city had chosen his fate by ignoring the offer for peace that had been extended. This was _his _choice, not Eragon's.

"_Taskforce Wolf, this is India three-sixteen. Be advised; six hostiles left, hiding in the rubble to your ten. Stand by for danger-close."_

_So they have the same animals we have?_ Eragon thought as he heard that transmission through his radio. Behind him, the vehicles stopped. Thus far nobody had died and the hundred soldiers from the Varden didn't understand why. They only understood that they were winning and some of them kept advancing.

"Eragon," Whiskey-bravo yelled from his position near Spartan, "impact, danger-close! Get your men back!"

Eragon didn't hesitate for a moment. He used magic to jerk the five men who had been wandering too far into the battlefield back and yelled, "Stop! There's an ambush!"

The soldiers stopped moving, except for the men he had pulled away from the coming storm, who were crawling back to their feet.

And then a series of rapid impacts rattled the landscape, sending blocks of stone and shards of wood flying everywhere and ripping the cover of the enemy soldiers completely to pieces. There wasn't any blood, there weren't any flying limbs, just dust and shrapnel.

The Varden men were aghast. He could hear them whispering and conversing like never before.

"_You're cleared all the way in, over," _said the female voice again. Eragon wondered if she was the one who piloted the craft high in the sky.

"_Thanks India. Remind me to buy you a beer," _joked one of the soldiers.

Eragon shook his head and gripped his sword tighter. He had given Zar'roc back to Murtagh, as it was rightfully his, but that had left him without a proper weapon. He was going to need a Rider's sword himself. Not that he had actually had much of a chance to _use _a sword, what with all the projectiles and mass-destructive weapons being thrown around like arrows. The more time he spent waging war with the UNSC, the more he came to understand their true nature. The horrors that they must have seen and, in turn, inflected on their foes. He wanted to talk to someone about it, see what their thoughts were, but that was a difficult thing to do when he barely knew any of them. He liked Whiskey-bravo and Arya seemed to like somewhat too, but they didn't yet _trust _him.

So that basically left Spartan to talk to about their war. Not really an enticing idea.

He watched as a group of Varden soldiers charged the gates of the castle, intent on destroying it with wooden pillars serving as rams. The gate held their combined attack though and Spartan waded through their midst, standing at least a full head taller at minimum. He didn't even need to tell them to make room; they simply stumbled out of the way.

Eragon extended a mental tendril to the gate and found that it was shielded by a powerful wall of magic. It had to have been erected by a collection of strong magicians, or else he would have been capable of smashing right through it.

Spartan kicked against the door once, pulled out his weapon and shot twice. The second round shattered the barrier and punched through the wood without difficulty, draining the power of whoever had casted the magic and probably killing that person.

The Rider kicked against the door again and sent it scattering across the castle's interior in pieces. Eragon didn't stop to marvel at the soldier's strength and signaled Arya instead, after which they both entered the castle as well.

"Fan out," Spartan barked at them. "Take the soldiers and sweep the castle. Watch your corners and keep an eye on your surroundings."

Arya nodded and Eragon addressed the men of the Varden. "This city is ours. We just have to tell them that. Come on!"

They cheered in unison, their enthusiasm diminished by the degree of violence that had been done that day. But they did not hesitate.

Eragon tried opening a "channel" to Arya privately, ended up spamming the global channel of the other Starborn soldiers in the vicinity and decided to go for mental conversations once again. '_Arya? Do you know what the vessel hit Melian with?'_

He spotted the elf briefly turning around to look at him. Her shield was mounted on her back and the black pieces of armor on her body were sleek enough to not stand out from the suit at all. For some reason, it looked better on her than her normal, leather outfit…

No. He was not going to think like that about Arya. Not in the middle of combat.

'_I think it was a larger version of what Spartan uses. Much larger and much faster. In theory, it could rip through any magical barrier.'_

'_In theory?'_ Eragon chuckled, but he wasn't remotely amused. '_Arya, even Spartan's handheld weapons do that. A powerful magician can stop or divert crossbow bolts, but the barrier at the gates was destroyed with two shots! Just try stopping their projectiles with your bare hands, because that's why they are so effective against magic.'_

Arya remained quiet. Further augmenting Eragon's worries about anti-magic weaponry were the bodies of three magicians they found, deeper into the hallways. No wounds, no signs of struggle. They were extremely pale and sweaty, which meant that they had died of energy-loss.

'_This is worrying,'_ Arya said as she spotted the bodies. The two of them were pushing deeper into castle, encountering less soldiers than they should have. '_The power of my people lies in our use of magic. All of us are warded and that is where we draw confidence and victory from. If the UNSC can rip through all magic with their weapons…we would be defenseless.' _

'_Why would they attack the elves?'_ he asked. '_They are our allies, right?'_

Arya stabbed a guard through the chest, before she spun around and slashed at another one. '_Spartan is our ally. I do not think the rest of the Starborn as allies yet. I doubt they think of us like that, anyway.'_

'_We must look like primitives to them. All this time I thought the elves were so advanced.'_

Again, she didn't reply. Eragon didn't know where the UNSC soldiers had gone, but at the moment they didn't need them. They worked through the castle at a much faster pace than ever before and before he knew it, Arya and he had reached the royal chambers of the lord. They too were locked.

Arya stepped forwards and released her magic, blowing the doors out of their hinges without any apparent difficulty. "Spartan is not the only one with a dynamic entry."

He swallowed. She was still leagues better than him. "Remind me never got get on your bad side."

"You would need to transcend Galbatorix to do that."

That was reassuring. And comforting in a way.

"You!" cried the man who Eragon took to be the leader of Melian. "Do you know what you have done? You have destroyed half our city!"

"Exactly the half," replied Eragon. "You wouldn't surrender when we gave you the chance. You brought this on yourself."

"We didn't know!" he shouted back, frantic. Two soldiers had to grab him and hold him. "How could we have known _this_?"

"Right," Eragon softly muttered. "You couldn't. But you knew of their craft, of their potential. And you did evacuate the civilians, didn't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then you must have known something. Take him away."

Now that the lord of Melian was taken care of, and the remaining enemy soldiers had surrendered, Eragon could finally sit down and think things through. It was late in the evening, Spartan and his men were nowhere to be found and he was tired. The ship providing overwatch from the skies had held the ability to destroy an entire city in just a few seconds. He doubted that even Shruikan, Galbatorix's dragon, could do that. It was so unreal, so unfair. Nobody should ever hold that much power, nobody. How was it possible? How had the UNSC ever developed such weapons? And with all that death and destruction just waiting to be unleashed, how had they ever been losing in a war? It didn't add up. They had gotten their victory, but half Melian had been destroyed. And not a single casualty on their side. Was this what the Captain had been talking about? Real warfare? Was all the war Eragon knew just a lie?

Who was he kidding? He knew nothing of war. He was just a soldier, a Rider; he fought and killed on demand and for what? For this? Mass-destruction wherein nobody needed him? What did they even need him for? What was the point of soldiers if they were going to be mass-murdered?

At least none of their allies had died. That was…a good thing, he guessed. They could win the war like this. All they had to do was march on to Galbatorix's castle and do this thing. Bomb the capital from above and without civilian casualties.

"_Eragon," _someone told him, opening a private channel. It took him a few moments to recognize it as Spartan's voice. "_I need you and Arya south of the city."_

"Right," said Eragon. "Where is the south part again?"

"_I'll send you some coordinates. Hurry it up."_

"I'm coming." Was it just him, or did the Spartan sound somewhat…worried? That couldn't be good. That could not be good. '_Arya? New orders. We need to get to the south part of the city.'_

'_Fine. Where is that?'_

He was about to tell her that they would receive coordinates, when something appeared on his HUD-thing. It was a sideways square, blue and small, pointing to the right side. It had a marker, saying "233 m". That was probably meters. '_To the right, down in front of the intact gate.'_ He could see the gate from where he stood, outside the window, but a small building blocked the lowest side and he couldn't see where the waypoint was aiming at. No matter.

To the second-in-command of the Varden's battlegroup, he said, "Take control of the city and capture the remaining soldiers. Make sure that the lord gets to safety."

"Yes, Shadeslayer."

Shadeslayer…with the arrival of the UNSC, even the prestigious title had changed. Not only had a tough, but nonetheless anonymous soldier managed to kill a Shade without any preparation or difficulty, the Varden had also allied itself with a Shade. To top it off, a new Shade had beaten Spartan in close-combat. At one level, he glad that even the Spartan was not infallible. And at another level, that was exactly the reason it also terrified him.

But that defined him now, didn't it? Uncertainty and guessing. Doubts and fears. Everything had changed and now that it had, he wished it had never changed. At one level, he was so joyed that they had found powerful and dependable allies. At a completely different level, he disliked and feared them for the immense power and contempt they held. No civilization should ever hold so much strength. But now that everything had changed, he needed to change as well. Heck, he already had. The suit he wore as a testimony to that.

Arya joined him and together, they made their way to the lower level of the castle. Some soldiers ambushed them, but they were no match for his magic. As he extinguished their lives with his arcane abilities, he wondered if this was what it meant to hold a "gun" and kill with a single muscle-twitch. To be a Starborn soldier and kill a dozen people with one movement. He knew his conscience wouldn't be able to stomach it.

"It seems we have found our allies," remarked Arya.

"Aye." Spartan and the twelve soldiers were all gathered a few dozen meters away from the gate, spread out in a rough semi-circle around what looked like a giant glyph. One of the soldiers was standing rather close to it, waving a black device through the air.

Eragon threw one good look at the black glyph on the ground and he felt his stomach clench and roll. Shivers ran down his spine and the air grew considerably hotter. The image on the ground…it was evil. He could feel it. It was at least fifteen feet wide and it was just…it was plain _wrong_.

"Get away from there!" cried Arya. The soldier looked at her from behind his helmet, but Spartan immediately gestured at him, after which the soldier jumped away from the glyph.

"What is this thing?" demanded the Spartan. "It's magic, right?"

Eragon whistled softly. The large image on the ground was clearly visible even in the dead of night, shimmering with a radiant aura. It didn't look like any language he knew, so it couldn't be magic. Although…he didn't remember every single letter and image from the Ancient Language, as he couldn't have learned it completely in the time he had spent at Du Weldenvarden. It might be an older form of magic.

"It feels magic…but I do not recognize it. We should proceed with caution."

If only Saphira were here, she'd probably have some advice for him on how to continue. But things have been happening so fast that he hadn't even had time to communicate with her. The attack on Melian had been one chain of violence and fire and he had been focused on observing his allies and making sure the soldiers stayed alive. And the dragons weren't even near them; for fear of "friendly fire", they had stayed behind. Saphira and Aeraleth were scouting ahead and Murtagh and Thorn had sought out an elf expert on the idea of the True Name.

"_Fine."_ He was speaking through the helmet again. "_I want a full scan on this thing and –go ahead, India."_

"_Spartan, can you check your FOF tags, over?"_

"_Still functioning. Why?"_

_FOF tags? What were those?_

"_I just lost all footage of you guys down there."_

"_Clouds?"_

"_Negative, we can see –come again? Hudson, you sure-? Great."_ The woman sighed. "_Ground team be advised, we just lost all visual of you. We can –damn, even that? We have a negative on visual. Repeat, negative on all visual. We are combat-ineffective over here; you'll be going without air-support, over."_

"_Copy that India. Get clear of the sky and keep us posted, over."_

"Arya?" said Eragon. "I have a bad feeling about this. Can you-?"

But she didn't respond. She was staring at the dark glyph on the ground, whispering, muttering. She seemed transfixed.

"Arya?"

"Side by side we march along…you are all mockeries…lies for the weak…"

He tried to contact her mentally, but she was so preoccupied with whatever it was she was doing that she barely even noticed him. The ground started to shake and quiver and he could hear rocks shattering. "Arya, snap out of it!"

Even as the soldiers around him raised their arms and aimed at the glyph, Eragon rushed towards the lone elf and grabbed her by her shoulders. He pulled her to the ground, took her helmet off and saw that her pupils were glazed over and dilated. What was wrong with her?

Behind him, the ground exploded outwards in a shower of rocks and heat. He instinctively covered Arya with his own body. '_Saphira, I need you!'_

He could hear shouts and screaming and some of the Varden's soldiers came running towards them from the city. The ground trembled and cracked even more and then the earth underneath them rippled like water. Arya and he were thrown into the air and he didn't hesitate for a moment, calling upon his reserves to cushion their blow. Sharp and powerful pieces of stone and rock bounced off of their suits and he knew that they would have drained his wards immediately.

Still they impacted on the ground with enough force to bounce up again. He came down with a heavy smack and got the air knocked out of him. People were opening fire and screaming and something _massive _loomed over them all, casting a huge shadow

Arya coughed and blinked a few times. "What…where is he?"

"W-who?" He noticed that he hadn't landed unscathed either.

"The…the…Eragon, is that you?"

"Yes, now get up! We are under attack!" he handed her the helmet and turned around, facing this new threat for the first time. The ground was pulsating with a faint, red glow and pieces of hot stone were occasionally falling from the sky.

His first and immediate thought was to run. To turn around and fall back, regroup and call in help. But he couldn't do that; people around him needed help. Saphira was on the way, but he doubted she could do much. The thing that had risen from the ground was huge. Enormous. It had to have been at least forty feet tall, with arms that nearly reached to the ground. Its skin, though it looked more like rock to him, had a deep tint of black and rippled with protrusions and spikes. Its legs were thick and muscled and its face, its _head_, could have been called smooth had it not been for the series of giant spines that stuck out of it. Most of them were as thick as a man, while easily twice as long. They were jagged and cracked and blunt, looking more like damaged crystal than anything else. It had no face to speak of; no eyes, no mouth, no ears, just horns and scabs.

He felt his knees trembling. This thing…this monster…this had to be a demon. A spawn of hell, straight from the underworld, sent up vanquish them.

Eragon gritted his teeth and called upon his magical reserves. It was time to see how powerful the UNSC-Varden alliance really was.

The Starborn soldiers were firing at the monster with their weaponry while backing off, causing large holes and scratches in its armor. But the creature didn't seem to be faced; it lifted its arms and roared, and Eragon could feel the pain in his chest through the suit. Arya stumbled, her helmet prepped safely on her head, and behind them some of the Varden's men lost their balance altogether. The ground cracked further and the creature looked around, as if checking its environment.

"_Fall back!" _ordered Spartan. "_Warthog company, we need support ASAP!"_

The response kicked Eragon in the stomach. "_Actually Spartan, we'd hoped you would come to support us. We've got some massive demon-thing kicking our ass out here, at the north."_

"_Get out of there and rendezvous on our position. Cut your losses."_

"_Copy that."_

Eragon had heard people refer to the large vehicles as warthogs before, but they didn't look like warthogs to him at all. They had something feline, but not-

"Eragon, look out!"

The stone demon roared again and this time, the ground erupted in flames. Jagged rocks exploded upwards and flames shot out of the ground as if they were on the Burning Plains. He jumped away, trying to stop the ground from splitting apart underneath the feet of the Varden's men. But instead of feeling resistance, or a vast consciousness controlling the magic, there was nothing. Nothing to oppose, nothing to do. He was helpless to watch at least seven men go up in flames, while the rest scattered in a full-blown panic. The air smelled like burning flesh.

"No!" he shouted. He had worked with these men! They had been allies, fighting for the same cause. Dying for the same cause.

Why? Why had he been unable to help them? Why couldn't he attack this _thing _with magic and what was this even?

"I can't get a grip on it," cried Arya. "Magic doesn't affect it!"

Magic didn't affect it? How was that possible? Magic was the basic manipulation of energy, nothing could just _ignore _that!

They were out in the open and entirely vulnerable. The Starborn weaponry didn't kill the monster fast enough and every second they were trying to kill it was another second for it to kill them.

The creature roared again and this time, the ground underneath the feet of the UNSC soldiers exploded. Somehow, two of the men that were caught in the radius were jerked backwards before the fire could consume them. A third one wasn't as lucky; he uttered a loud, ragged scream as his outlines disappeared in fire, before he abruptly went quiet.

Eragon averted his gaze.

Spartan reloaded, brandished another spherical projectile and held it in his hand for a brief moment. "_Fall back to a range of fifty meters and lay down suppressing fire!" _He then threw the item at the rampaging monstrosity, which was busy hauling itself out of the earth. More flames licked at its limbs and when the sphere exploded, it created a gaping hole on its "face".

The soldiers started moving backwards, some running and some walking, but they retained their formation and didn't stop firing. They reloaded their weapons after yelling it and did it in such a way that there was never a break in their attacks. But it wasn't enough; another soldier fell when a large piece of rock penetrated his suit and pinned him to the ground through his abdomen. He screamed, but didn't stop firing.

Spartan didn't fall back and neither did Eragon or Arya. The creature ignored all the people shooting holes in it and started moving towards Melian at a steady pace, far faster than a creature of such size should be capable of.

"Deloi moi," Eragon shouted, hoping to send a thin piece of rock through the creature's gaping hole for a face. Nothing happened. It somehow nullified magic!

The creature erupted another crater underneath the Varden's soldiers and Eragon quickly pulled at least five of them away from the searing heat that was to follow; he couldn't afford to move more, or he would expend too much energy. Arya did the same, but she moved a total of seven men away. The rest scrambled for safety, but they couldn't get out in time. Four men were incinerated in under a few seconds and Eragon cursed loudly under his breath.

What was this thing? Why was it here?

Roaring again, the creature leaped towards the city, covering a distance of at least fifty feet in a single bound. It landed against the still-intact gate and crushed it.

Spartan sprinted after it, gesturing at Arya and Eragon to follow him. "_India three-sixteen, stand by for heavy-collateral bombing following a beacon, over."_

"_India here. Thought you would need our services one more time, we are repositioning, over."_

The monster glanced over the ruined cityscape and fire-explosions followed in its wake, combustions incinerating houses and detonations destroying the streets. It burned the city by looking at it.

'_Saphira, get away from here! This thing can use magic by looking at things!'_

'_And leave you alone down there?'_

'_We are working on it. Move!'_

Then the monstrosity turned around and looked at them, just as they approached it.

Spartan pulled out two items and fired on the creature again. The shots from his weapon did nothing more than anger it, but at least he had its attention.

The monster's gaze settled on the Rider and he looked aside. Time began to slow down and the air grew hot and heavy.

Spartan pocketed a shimmering object and threw it to him, just before he too disappeared in an explosion of fire and heat.

"_Ground-team, the city is burning. Repeat, the city is burning. You need to get the hell out of there!"_

He couldn't think. Couldn't move. The ground was shaking and his ears were ringing. The item sailed through the air and his hand shot out to catch it. It felt smooth underneath his gauntlet.

"Eragon?"

"_Repeat, three-sixteen standing by for gun-run. Sierra, you there? Warthog company, anyone?"_

The people in the city were screaming. Were dying. Everything was burning and the monster looked around again. The ground underneath the castle erupted and exploded and fire was everywhere.

"Eragon!"

He clutched the thing in his hands like it was the solution to everything. He heard a female shout through the radio and more soldiers chimed in, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He had to think, recollect himself and get back at the action. He had to think.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away. The wall –what was left of it- collapsed around them and pieces of rock and rubble were falling left and right. Something heavy impacted on his head and he fell to the ground, hitting a rock with his visor. It cracked.

"_Warthog company, Arya here. We are stuck and we have wounded. We need assistance!"_

"_We hear you, moving in to assist."_

This thing could cause explosions by looking at things, enough to kill fully armoured soldiers. He wasn't safe, Arya wasn't safe. Saphira wasn't safe. Spartan wasn't responding.

He fumbled with the seal, struggling to pull his damaged helmet off. The thing he was holding…it was flashing a blue light, and underneath that light was a small button to press. He didn't recognize it.

"Eragon," Arya shouted as she struck at his helmet. "Come on, we need to get out of here! This place is burning!"

The item…a beacon. A button. Like a laser? Like a signal? The light wasn't strong enough to shine, but their craft had to know where to hit. Had to know where to kill.

"Arya, cover me."

He knew what he had to do. He had to lure the monster away from the city and place the beacon at its feet –inside of it, if necessary- and call in support. He had to kill it soon, or it would kill more people. The city was burning and the castle collapsed and nobody would stop screaming.

Eragon took several deep breaths and jumped out of the improvised cover, clutching the beacon in his right hand. He had lost his sword, it seemed.

The monster was facing the city again, tearing a house apart with exaggerated slowness. It picked the roof off, stared at it and watched it burn away. Then it pried the walls apart, always burning things with its gaze.

Eragon broke into a flat sprint and jumped over a few burning corpses. There was a rock in his way, but he jumped over that too. The impacts jarred his knees and the smoke was making it hard to breathe. It was dark and his eyes stung. The city was burning bright and the sky was on fire, blending morbidly together with the darkness of the smoke. It was a shot straight from hell. He held his breath and carried on, running towards the enormous creature. He used magic to augment his movements, letting him jump on top of a roof that wasn't burning. It was a rare thing; the entire city was burning.

As if alarmed by his presence, the monster whirled around stared at him. Eragon wasted no time and scrambled for cover, the roof spontaneously combusting behind him. Multiple impacts rattled his suit and he felt something sharp tear into his side, but he had to go on.

Eragon landed on the monster's leg and nearly speared himself on a rocky protrusion. The skin of the thing, black as the night, gleamed and reflected the images of the fire. It felt too smooth to be rock, too hard to be skin. It was almost like a gem, cut and chiseled into perfection.

The creature lashed out at him with an arm and he quickly jumped to the side, aiming for a large protrusion that grew out of the thing's back. He used a large portion of his reserves to guide himself on-course and grabbed a hold of the spike, barely managing to hold on. The fake-skin felt hot underneath his grip and the smoke was making it impossible to see where he was going. His throat ached and hurt and his eyes were watering.

But he didn't let go. He climbed upwards along the creature's burning back, his gloves slowly burning away and searing his skin. He sucked his breath in as something sharp embedded into his left hand, but he only breathed a mouthful of smoke in, sending him into an explosive coughing-fit.

The armor of his legs buckled and his side was burning. He fumbled around, blinded by the heat and fire, coughing like a plagued madman. He found a deep hole that burned his gloved hand when he probed it. It had to do.

He gripped the beacon, pressed the button with his thumb and plunged it into the hole. A second later, his hands lost all grip on the creature, burned as they were. He didn't what happened, but he felt everything .Felt himself all, felt the boiling air rush past him and his stomach lurch as he dropped to the ground. He couldn't breathe, couldn't see, only feel the excruciating pain of the burns and the lacerations.

Eragon impacted on something that felt like a building and in a reflex, he scrambled to grab something that could be used to hold on to. But there was nothing there. Or there was something there and he lacked the strength to hold on to it. Either way, he fell. Fell and hit the ground hard enough to hear something breaking. Wood? Armor? Bone?

No air, no sight, no energy. Beacon was active. Needed to lure it away…needed to get it clear of the city, to protect the people.

Something cold and heavy clasped his wrist and hauled him up. It was an iron clasp, hurting him, unyielding. He struggled, grunted with a damaged throat and attempted to get at least _some _air into his lungs. But whatever had him didn't let him go and it pulled him with him, shoving something large and hard into his abdomen. That hurt too.

His feet left the ground and the thing around his wrist let go again. Something was carrying him…away? Towards? Was he in danger? Was he being moved to safety? Why was he spinning? Was that his head?

Something roared in the distance, but it didn't sound like the monster. It sounded like a vehicle.

He grunted weakly. His throat was burning. What was happening?

"Arya."

"You found him!"

"Your leg."

"It's fine. Get us out of here."

"This is going to hurt."

Whoever was holding him bent over and Arya screamed in pain. He started struggling and he tried to call her name, but all that came out of his throat was a ragged grunt.

His surroundings trembled again as things exploded in the distance and he heard Arya taking deep breaths.

"We'll stop the bleeding in a moment. Hang on."

"Spartan…you can't do this. There are _people _here."

There was no reply. They were moving again and something heavy was trembling right next to them. He felt something moving him too and he was eased into a seat, cool and leathery.

"Kid did it?"

"He did. Inhaled smoke, burn wounds…get us clear."

"Spartan, please. Don't do it."

"What's her deal?"

"City's compromised."

"I see."

The vehicle burst into movement and Spartan muttered something. A few moments later, the world seemed to explode.

* * *

A low rumbling indicated coming destruction. Something sped towards the ground, faster than anyone could follow. Like an agent of death. It impacted on the city, where the rampaging titan was burning everything to the ground, and life ceased to be. Melian was consumed in a flash of fire and flames and everybody inside of the city, civilians, enemy soldiers and perhaps even Varden soldiers all died. All went up in a flash of light.

She felt a shiver running down her spine and she averted her gaze, a painful feeling tugging at her heart. How many had burned to death? How many had been their doing and how many had been the creature's doing?

"That was murder," she whispered. The vehicle that had come to take them away was producing a lot of noise, but all the detonations had numbed her hearing. It didn't bother her as much as it should.

"It was necessary," the Spartan muttered back. He was sitting in the front, his rifle at his lap. He wasn't even watching the degree of destruction that _he _had wrought.

"We could have saved them! We could have lured it away!"

"Doing so would have resulted in more casualties. The Varden evacuated already."

Arya weakly groaned as lances of pain shot up and down her leg. During the collapse of the wall, something had bypassed her wards and sent a large piece of debris into her leg. Her concern for Eragon had pushed out the pain she had felt, but now that he was safe, it returned, worse than before.

Well…safe was not exactly what she would use to describe his situation. She knew what effect fire and smoke had on living creatures; how they had the tendency to choke to death long before the fire killed them. Eragon's helmet had shattered and he had torn it off, declaring she needed to cover him.

"There were civilians down there. Hundreds."

They stopped near something that looked like a temporary camp. A few green tents had been erected and there were several fires going. Bodies lay sprawled on the ground, covered in blankets and being tended to. Eragon was lying in the back of the vehicle, his eyes closed.

"Enemy noncombatants. They would have died anyway."

"You can't have known that. When you called in the airstrike, you killed them. All of them."

He didn't bother to face her. He exited the vehicle and gestured at one of the present soldiers with a subtle gesture. Two men of the Varden immediately ran towards the, grabbing Eragon by his arms and hauling him upwards.

"Be careful with him," she told them with no small amount of threatening in her voice.

They stared at her for a few seconds before continuing. Overhead, Saphira approached the camp, circling around it and slowly descending.

"Get gear ready, he's inhaled smoke. Get me the biofoam."

"Spartan!" Arya shouted at him. She couldn't stand it when people ignored her. This fight –this war- was not what she thought it would be. It was so much worse. The Starborn really did not care for the lives of the beings in Alagaesia and it frightened her. "Did you pressure Eragon into placing that beacon? Force him to share in the slaughter-"

He turned on her with a ferocity that was as sudden as it was startling. "Screw off, Arya. You think you know war? You don't." His armour was scorched and covered in burn-marks and he stood taller than her. He was standing close enough that she had to look up to keep facing him and she was unsure if he was going to be physical or not. He jabbed at her with a finger, but halfway through the gesture he looked down at his hand and it clenched. Then he lowered it. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and low. "I exist to make decisions that other people can't. The needs of the many outweigh the human cost."

Arya stared at him, her mind incapable of processing what he said. She was vaguely aware of the conversations around her. Things about "radiation" and "magnetism". This was why she feared him; his blatant disregard for all things humane. She had relieved creatures from their suffering before and she had killed before, but this? Mass-slaughter of civilians that had surrendered? It was unacceptable. A crime of war. "Spartan, you blew up hundreds of civilians." She had to remain calm and level with him, or he would not remain calm himself.

"We killed the creature." He turned to a UNSC soldier standing guard with a rifle. "What's the ETA for the evac?"

"Sir, three minutes."

"Casualties?"

"We lost two marines, sir. Six wounded, four critical and two stable."

"Varden?"

"Worse. There were a few stragglers that didn't get out of Melian in time. From the initial hundred, sixty-four remain."

"Keep me posted." He turned to face her again. "Things happen, Arya. Sacrifices need to be made in order to win."

"Yet you remain alive," she quietly pointed out. Perhaps that had gone too far.

Spartan did not show any sign of distress about that. "Not for a lack of trying. I have sacrificed about everything I could. And more. My life isn't worth that much to give." He paused, perhaps contemplating what he had just said. "You are pulling medic-duty. Heal the worst injuries, prevent the soldiers from dying. Dismissed."

She blinked. Had he not heard what he had just said? It sure was the most he had said in a while, but…it was distressing. Did he not even regard his own life as valuable? Had he seriously done things worse than this? She had been capable of imagining a scale to his conflict before, but now…now she wasn't as sure anymore. Nothing was sure anymore.

Arya shook her head and casted a look at Eragon. He had made it possible for the creature to be destroyed, but she knew that he would have never called in the heavy fire when still inside the city. That had been Spartan's doing. So many things had happened…Spartan had saved Eragon from the city right after he had been nearly immolated by flames, but he had also killed all those people. But he had also saved her, getting them both to the safety of a vehicle. Where had those vehicles come from if they had been fighting another monster as well? And where had those things themselves come from? Hey had to have been some evil creation of Galbatorix, but…somehow she doubted it. The heavy, mind-numbing presence in her head had felt too vast and alien to even be a dragon. There was more going on in this land than met the eye and given the chance, it would all consume them. She was sure of that.

No…she needed to banish this. She needed to focus on preventing men from dying. Then she needed to be sure that Eragon would recover properly. And then, she was going to contact her mother and make sure that those creatures would never resurface. And perhaps, force Spartan to tell her the truth about him. About his people. About the Spartans.


	29. Brimstone pt I

First Lieutenant Mason stepped inside of the small room of the brig and eyed the lone table in the middle, where a bald man sat slumped on a chair. Nearly broken.

He pushed the glasses higher up his nose and sat down across from the bald magician. The death of his twin-brother had hit him hard, but he hadn't given up his secrets just yet. His magic was strong, but ONI's methods were far stronger.

"So, feel like talking?"

The man muttered something in return.

"Speak up." It was an order, sudden and loud. The bald man shot up in his chair and stared at Mason with dark eyes. Several rows of bags on top of bags underneath his eyes made him look twice as old as he had to be. Torture, essentially, was so much more refined than beating someone until he cracked. Answers gotten like that would be incomplete or downright wrong and nobody wanted that. So in order to get someone to talk, you had to break him down completely. Physically. Mentally.

And later, the soul.

"I am already dead…"

"No, you aren't. We hold your life in our control. You will only die when we want to. If you starve yourself, we will force-feed you. If you grasp magic, we take it away from you. There is nothing here you can do safe for cracking open your skull against the wall. And you are far too weak for that now.

"What…do you want?"

The magician hadn't slept in over a week. Heck, ever since they had captured him, really. And who had thought that drugs meant for augmentation-therapy for Secret-Spartans could cause deliberating pain, nausea, temporary insanity and a dozen other nasty things when administered in small portions? Without anti-drugs, it would tear his mind apart. Funny how things went.

"Everything you can offer. Tonight, a massive creature attacked a town called 'Helian'. It was big, black, controlled _energy _to an even better degree than any of you could…what was it?"

"I…I have no idea…creature?"

"Four limbs, no face, lots of fire."

"…dragon?"

Mason chuckled. "Nah, don't think so. So how'd you sleep?"

The man grunted.

"That's what I thought. You know, with all of our firepower, we could burn this entire country. We could kill the king from a hundred miles away, destroy the elves three times over and breed our own dragons. Our Spartan is enough to tear through all of your armies, as _nothing _can hurt him. And you saw it yourself. Are you sure you're on the right side?"

The man sobbed. "Leave me alone…I don't…I can't…"

Nearly there. Another few days and he would break –or he would die. Either way, they'd get their Intel. "Our army is approaching Uru'baen as we speak. We have three Riders, each with a full-grown dragon."

"T-three?"

"Yes. Murtagh is on our side now. He has broken through the king's bindings with our power."

"You…you…lie!"

"I can tell you how many soldiers he has. Forty-thousand men. Ballista's, catapults and magic traps. You see, we've basically won the war."

"Then…just let me go…let me go…"

The man whispered those last words as he drifted off again, either due to the sleep-deprivation or the drugs. Whichever it was, he couldn't have it.

"Hey, asshole, stay me why don't you?" Mason slapped the man in the face, waking him up again. He liked doing that. This man, according to Intel from Spartan and Ajihad, confirmed by Arya, had been feeding information to the Empire for a long time now, resulting in many deaths. An enemy informant costing lives hit a specific sore point with him. "There's more important things than your king, moron. The elves! I want to know about the elves!"

The man groaned weakly. "Just…lemme sleep…please…"

Mason gritted his teeth and activated the electro-padding on the chair, sending a powerful jolt through the man's spinal cord. He screamed and jerked and the Lieutenant smiled. "Now every time you slip away, look away or even _sit _differently in your chair, I'll give you a shock. Are we clear?"

"Yes…"

Good. They had drilled obedience in at least. He could work with that.

"What does the name Forerunner mean to you?"

* * *

It could nearly be seen as funny, the way things went. How history had the tendency to repeat itself over and over again. One would think that, eventually, everyone could grow numb to it. Especially Spartans. The Master Chief wouldn't have felt troubled by the things he had done, would he? Of course not. The discipline of the Secret-Spartans was nothing compared to that of the real deal.

Still, Maine doubted that even the SPARTAN-II"s would have called the payload down without hesitation. After all, they were the guardians of mankind, while heskulked around in shadows, walking the thin line between good and bad. And today, he had undoubtedly crossed that line again. Again. And it had been easier to do, as well. Almost as if he welcomed an opportunity to resent himself for his deeds.

Sierra-zero-zero-seven watched as another Pelican dropship arrived with new medical personnel, here to treat the dozens of wounded. Whatever that creature had been, the high-speed 350 shell had torn it completely apart. Marines scouting the blast-site had reported mechanical parts, liquid metal and a strange abundance of gemstones. And no survivors, of course. Melian was a ghost-town now; the castle still stood, but everything around it had been flattened. Civilians, dead. Soldiers, dead. Surrendering enemy personnel, POW's, all dead too.

And as always, it was on his hands. But this time was different; there had been a choice. A choice for _him _to make, for once. That was new. He never got to make choices. There was a reason why he wasn't in charge; his judgment was off. But even he had not expected it to be _this _off.

The Pelicans touched down and the doors opened. He didn't bother to watch how many of the locals had been sent with the UNSC to treat their allies.

There was really one question he had to ask himself: could he have lured the thing away? Could he have lured the monster away from the city by presenting it a target it couldn't obliterate within a second?

He heard the familiar sound of flapping wings in the distance and knew that Aeraleth and Saphira were watching their camp, circling around in a tight perimeter to make sure that nothing safe the UNSC ships got through. Saphira's Rider had gotten hurt and Aeraleth's had gotten close to getting hurt.

Minor burns on his limbs, that was all he had really suffered. Nothing like the last time; he had walked away that day with chemical burns, shrapnel-wounds and bullet-holes. In a way, he was almost disappointed that he hadn't been wounded. The fire had nearly breached his shields, but they had held. Just like his armour had. It was just the internal temperature that had spiked so suddenly. At least he could have claimed that he had paid for his decision. He hadn't.

They were currently camped a few miles away from the coast-city to the west, of which he had forgotten the name again. It was still dark and it would be a while before the sun rose. Wren had caught some ghost-signals on an occasionally-functioning scanner and he was fairly certain that there was something of importance to be found there. Their team was the closest, so they would investigate.

The campfires were low-profile and nobody was chattering. Elves were working together with medics to save the lives of many a fallen soldier and that was the only activity that was worth watching, really. Normally, Maine would have questioned the origin of the elves and come to the conclusion that they had to have been dumped off with the last Pelican, but now he just couldn't bring himself to care. For the very first time in a long while, he truly felt tired.

Arya was sitting by Eragon, a few meters away from the campfire. They were part of the large group of numbed soldiers resting from the disastrous incursion. The Warthogs had been hauled off again; their operation in the city was going to be a stealth-operation. All nonessential personnel that was stable enough to move had gone with the 'hogs; most of the Varden soldiers were ordinary men who had just had a few months' worth of training. None of them knew how to properly stealth and their metal armour made too much noise when they moved. The only ones who did were the present elves, the marines and him. Even Saphira and Aeraleth adhered to the strict silence, keeping their jaws shut tightly.

His bonded partner had attempted to initiate a conversation with him at least three times in the half hour they had been camped here, but he hadn't replied. He didn't doubt that, had she dared to leave her position, she would have come down to force him to talk. But she felt too threatened by the potential of Lethrblaka engaging them and they couldn't afford to be raided by enemy air-units, not now they were so vulnerable.

Maine saw Whiskey-Bravo, the tank-gunner from the last OP, approaching Eragon and Arya. He muttered something and Eragon gestured at the patch of ground next to them. The marine then sat down.

He shouldn't be ignoring Aeraleth like that. Part of the reason he didn't want to talk with her was that he didn't want to distract her from her patrol, as she did have a lot of ground to cover. Another part was that he didn't want to distract himself. He had made a bad call and that resulted in the deaths of a lot of people. He could never be sure if the alternative had been viable, but neither had he attempted to find out. He had made the decision on the fly, really.

Final preparations. Two last dropships flew in and bagged the remaining wounded and Varden soldiers to evacuate them to the _When Duty Ends_. That left the total number of capable hands dangerously low in case of an attack. Six elves, including Arya. Eragon, a small handful of marines, one ODST and Whiskey-Bravo.

Someone approached him from behind. The footsteps were faint and quiet, subtle and calm. No human, elf. Not Arya, probably medic. His armour was charred and he hadn't cleaned it yet. He or she probably wanted to check him up for wounds. He'd kindly decline, telling them that he was uninjured. Then they would leave again.

A hand appeared on his shoulder and he flinched, before immediately suppressing the reflex that had nearly cost the person their hand.

"Are you well?"

He recognized the voice and turned around. Seven elves. She was the last person he had expected to address him and he wasn't sure about what to do now. "I'm fine."

What did it say about him that his first reaction was to lie?

Daenlith saw right through him though. "Will you repeat that in my tongue?"

He remained silent. Of course he couldn't; he didn't think of himself as 'well'. The Ancient Language prevented lying.

The elf took her hand off his shoulder and watched Whiskey-Bravo flailing wildly with his arms, imitating some scenario. Without his helmet, the soldier looked just like any Varden soldier. Stubble around his chin, wrinkles around his eyes and short-kept, brown hair, just a bit too long for regulations. Eragon chuckled. He had his arm –fresh out of the UNSC armour and wrapped in bandages- around Arya's shoulders.

"It is regretful what happened to Melian," she then quietly said. Her voice was soothing, but it still carried the grief-stricken tone that he had been hearing for the past half an hour now.

"Yes."

She looked up at him, eyeing him with an inscrutable expression. She was still shorter than he was in his suit, but taller than the average soldier. He liked that; it didn't augment the differences between Spartans and marines that the other people did. "Do you blame yourself?"

He softly inhaled. "Partly."

"Why?"

She sounded calm and reassuring, but Maine wasn't too sure how to respond. It didn't look like she was blaming him like Arya did but…he didn't know. "I made the call. Couldn't risk the hostile to disappear or move closer to allied forces."

"It cost many lives?"

He nodded. "Melian is dead. Civilians, soldiers, all gone."

The elf averted her gaze again and sighed. "This is a haunted victory. The king shall use this to gain more followers."

…he hadn't even thought about that yet. Great.

"But you did give the city the chance to surrender, did you not?"

"We did. The lord didn't take it."

Daenlith sat down on a nearby rock and watched the burning logs in the campfire. "Does the blame not lie with him, then?"

Maine didn't join her. Across of the fire, Arya cracked a smile. Whiskey sat back and placed his arms behind his head. He was telling them about Grunts. Funny little Grunts doing funny little Grunt-things, like suicide-bombing unsuspecting marines or tearing civilians apart en masse. Perhaps not that last one.

"I could have distracted it. Lure it away from the city. I didn't. And people died again. Innocent people."

"You have my sympathies."

He turned to face her. "What?"

Daenlith blinked once and stared at him with her slanted, yellow eyes. He still couldn't get over it how alien these elves were to him. "You said again. It has happened before. An accident?"

Doubt. "I've been killing people for a long time now. The first time, I didn't know if I was doing the right thing. The second time, I still didn't." he halted, trying to remember in which order it came. "Then I stopped caring altogether."

"The first life you take always stays with you."

He couldn't even remember the face of the first man he had killed. Or how. Just why; ONI wanted him dead. It all faded away in a big blur of death. It served to numb him for what happened, but it was things like this that got to him. He guessed that that day had just left a kink in his armour. Mind. Whatever. "You mentioned you've been fighting against Galbatorix's reign."

She nodded, slowly, subtly. "I have. I was born more than a hundred summers ago, just after the oath-breaker and his Morzan revealed themselves. Before he killed our king." Despite her closely-guarded face, her voice grew somewhat bitter and Maine remembered that, large-scaled or not, these people had suffered their own losses. When the Varden was founded, there were those among us who knew that they had to keep resisting the Empire. They were not many."

"The other elves couldn't have liked that."

"They did not." Daenlith pulled her legs in and wrapped her arms around her knees. "It was said that they risked our border-cities by opposing the Empire. They did not care. We did not care."

"You fought the Empire after the war." It wasn't a statement; he knew this.

"I did. With some others. We lay waste to every group of his army that dared to venture beyond the borders of their cities. I was thirty-nine."

Elves reached sexual maturity around the forth decade.

"This has been an insurrection for sixty years," he said. "How many humans have you killed during those years?"

"Only a few hundred. Most of them during the first thirty years. And then the Forsworn found our city at the edge of Du Weldenvarden. The rest is history."

Only a few hundred. More than many a marine or ODST had. Though with the massive numbers that the Empire offered, it wasn't that hard.

"What happened there, Spartan? Why did Melian have to burn?"

He sucked in his breath. He was fairly certain that Arya could hear them, too. Whiskey-Bravo needed to tell more Grunt stories to distract her. "I don't know," he admitted. His voice was soft, like a whisper. Partially because he didn't want others to hear it…and partially because he didn't want to speak. "It was a split-second decision. That creature had to die, or our allies would." He fell quiet. Above him, Aeraleth diverted from the path to get a better sight on things. "Do you think that luring it away would have caused more casualties? That it would have been too risky?"

"I cannot pass judgment on that. So I will not."

…at least she didn't judge him either; he had that going on. That was…mildly positive.

Why did it even _matter _to him if people judged him? This wasn't like then; enemy combatants had been clearly visible, he had engaged and subsequently neutralized a threat.

He had.

They didn't know war. In war, people died. Everything was acceptable. Biological, chemical and otherwise. You fought a war to win, not for honor or personal glory. He never understood why the Japanese samurais of ancient earth believed in honor, either. Didn't war take away your honor? _He _had always been taught that Spartans didn't have honor. That they wouldn't win glory.

…he probably _should _inform Aeraleth about his situation.

'_Finally willing to talk?'_

She had been listening in on him. Sneaky little devil. '_Partially.'_

'_I would have been insulted that you'd rather consult a pointy-ear than me…'_

'_But?'_

'…_but I know you have a thing for elves.'_

'_Right._' He was halfway into scanning his surroundings when his brain processed her words. There was something wrong with them. '_Wait, what?'_

'_Just look at you. They fascinate you. Like I did.'_

'_You still fascinate me. Explain the elf-thing?'_

She sent him a mental sensation of her uttering a rumbling sigh. '_How any elves are currently at the camp, familiar ones included?'_

'_Seven. Arya snugging with Eragon, Daenlith next to me, a pair on the left flank, one to the right and two near the fire.'_

'_Case in point.'_

But…but…'_I always keep an eye on the present soldiers. You know that.'_

'_Sure I do. My point still stands.'_

She didn't sound insulted. On the contrary; she sounded amused with his antics. It was a useful distraction though. '_So what you're saying is that you need more attention.'_

'_if that is your conclusion, I will not stop you.'_

Maine smirked, despite himself. After Aeraleth had found out about his doomed operation from years ago, they hadn't talked that much. Warfare came first and a lot of things had happened in quick succession. But she was still there for him, like she always was. She had accepted what was basically the worst thing that was possible to accept and she had done it in such a way that he felt _better _about himself. Better than he had in years. Of course, that had changed when he had wiped Melian of the map, but still.

'_When we get back from this mission, we'll go flying together.'_

'_I would like that.'_ She went silent for a few moments, during which the only thing that passed through their mental bond was the barest flicker of emotions from his side and some images from hers. When she spoke up again, six minutes had passed and she had scared a flock of deer half to death. Why she preferred to eat scared prey was beyond him, though he supposed it added spice to the taste. '_Will you be alright in the two-legged den?'_

'_You can call it a city if you want to-'_

'_-I don't.'_

'_-then that's fine. I'll do what I'll do best.'_

'_That's not what I meant and you know it.'_

She had caught him red-handed. '_I'll try not to blow this one up as well.'_

'_Good boy. Have fun!'_

"We should probably get moving," Maine then said, catching virtually everyone around the fire by surprise. The present marines all stood and snapped to attention within seconds though, so it was fine.

"What's the opposition at Feinster like, sir?"

_Ah, so it was Feinster._ "Unknown. Captain Wren is trying to get the radar working and he's been seeing ghost-signatures."

"I take it he sees them on the instruments, sir?"

_What else would he see them on_? "He does. We'll infiltrate the city and check it out."

"Alright people, you know the drill," shouted the ODST, who had come to reinforce them, "go in quick, do your thing, and pull out quicker. Let's do this!"

He saw Daenlith blushing and Eragon coughing in attempt to hide a laugh, while the rest of the marines simply chuckled and went to work. Probably a form of inside-humor. Though why did Eragon and Daenlith join in then?

They split up into multiple groups. Seeing as Arya, Eragon and some other elves could use magic to temporarily render themselves indistinguishable from their surroundings, they had a big chance to go unnoticed. But none of them actually had experience with infiltration, so they had a bigger chance to successfully infiltrate the city if they had an experienced soldier leading them. Whiskey-Bravo and the two marins would guide them in through the right flank. Team Black.

In the meantime, Maine would take Daenlith, the ODST –Sergeant Wallcroft- and the three remaining elves and infiltrate the left flank. Team White. The ghost signatures had been reported near the coast, so they'd need to check out the docks.

To ensure that their cover wouldn't be blown, the two teams split up right off the bat. They had a bigger chance of staying unnoticed if they traveled with smaller groups and if one side ran into noticeable targets, they could relay the information to the other side and get a better picture.

The elves were easy soldiers to work with. They didn't necessarily _like _the fact that a human commanded them, but they didn't vocally complain about it either. When he told them to take a certain route or check things out from a certain vantage-point, they did so, if only after giving him a weird little stare. That made this operation a dozen times easier; if he had been forced to work with loud, obnoxious Varden soldiers, he would have simply led a full-blown assault on the city.

White team reached a forest, with tall trees and thick bushes. The cover of the night kept them concealed from any patrol trying to spot them, but it wouldn't do them any good if they'd just wander through the foliage, breaking branches and singing the national elf-anthem. So he had to specifically tell them which path to take, moving slowly and with purpose. At least the elves knew how to tread lightly; the ODST was the only one who made the occasional noise, ironically. But Maine didn't blame him; when you were in the company of a Spartan and supernatural beings with magic, you had to be the underdog.

They reached a small outcropping of rocks, on the edge of a forest. It had a good view of the city ahead and he did not want to go in blind, so he took it. Careful not to dislodge any rocks, he climbed his way up.

One of the elves, a female with brown hair that reached to her hip, attracted his attention with the mental equivalent of subtle nudge.

He didn't allow her inside, but he did acknowledge her with a subtle hand-gesture. As he eyed the territory ahead, he heard her speak to him with a soft voice. "What are we seeking, Predator?"

Again with the nicknames. He turned to face her. "What's your callsign?"

She didn't seem to understand. "My name is Othiara, daughter of-"

"Our ship has the ability to see things," he cut her off, not wanting to have an entire ancestral-tree stuffed in his head. "Large things. We're there to investigate something that should not be there and potentially gather Intel on the enemy." He didn't bother to wait for a reply and instead continued his recon. There was enough cover from here to Feinster, but there were also plenty of guards on patrol. He didn't have a silencer for his rifle and he had neglected to requisition one for his sidearm.

Semantics. He still had magic at his possession and with it, he could…well, burn down the city. That wasn't really what he had in mind.

"But…" she seemed confused. "We are going to infiltrate Feinster…to seek out ghosts…and then leave again?

That was the idea, yes. Weird little elf. "Possibly assassinate some high-profile targets and gather information, yes."

"Sneaking around in the shadows?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Your people have a strange sense of war."

And the elves had a strange sense of…culture, he guessed. He wasn't going to insult her though; he was not in the right position to comment on the ideas of warfare of other people.

"If you'd seen the things we had, you'd be paranoid too," said the ODST behind them. Both Othiara as Maine had spotted Wallcroft approaching them, so he didn't surprise anyone.

That was the thing about elves; they were very hard to sneak up on. And no, that did not count as him having an elf-thing. Aeraleth must have pulled that particular idea out of Slipspace or something.

Othiara seemed to accept that challenge. "Why would we be paranoid about a human fearing images?"

A strange thing happened; the Spartan and the ODST exchanged a meaningful glance and both inhaled to deliver their reply. It wouldn't have surprised Maine if the Trooper had allowed him to go first in some wicked display of manners.

Nonetheless, he wasn't about to be running his mouth when there were perfectly-capable soldiers around to do it for him. And the ODST didn't seem to have a problem with that. He was probably many times more eligible in the mouth-run department than any Spartan was, anyway. "Lady, the first thing we saw before the Covenant showed up with a fleet of dozens of ships to burn our homes down were mirages. Scans and images made on trackers, spotting strange objects in space. Imagine you being in your cute little forest, when your elf-scouts catch movement somewhere. A few kilometers away, no big deal. Then, all of a sudden, two-hundred dragons show up and burn it all down to the ground."

"Metaphorically speaking," added Maine. He was not disappointed.

Othiara blinked a few times, but she didn't reply. It seemed to be a common elf thing to blink at things they didn't understand; he ought to keep that in mind. But for now, they had a mission to accomplish. And they had just finished the easy part, as their group soon found out.

"There are many guards," Daenlith whispered as they stopped a good hundred meters away from Feinster's wall. It was basically a wide-open area with some rocks, a few scattered bushes and the occasional hole in the ground. Maine did not know why there even _were _holes in the ground, but they'd manage. His biggest worry for now was making sure that the elves would keep following his orders.

If someone had told him that he'd once prefer working with ODST's above elves, he'd have opened fire. For multiple reasons. "I'll take point on this. Wallcroft, you guard our six."

"Sir."

"The rest of you will do exactly as I do, _when _I do. Got that?"

Daenlith nodded, Othiara shrugged and the two remaining elves didn't budge. He didn't know their names or their allegiance, but he _did _know that he would lose his patience very quickly if they didn't work with him.

"I said, got it?"

"Yes," muttered one of them. The other one nodded as well.

Great. They hadn't even started and they had already run into a snag.

Maine hit the magnification on his visor and eyed the guards that were patrolling the walls. They were sticking to a specific pattern, walking back and forth a dozen meters before stretching and turning around again. It was easy to predict, but he was willing to bet his left gauntlet that they would suddenly turn round during a critical moment.

"From here on, mental communication only."

"Sir?" said the ODST. "Requesting evac out of here if that's the case?"

That was right, none of the UNSC soldiers could use magic or mental probes. "Denied. Hand-gestures Wallcroft, use them."

"Figures. Sir."

The Spartan shook his head and looked at Feinster again. It was dark, the road towards the city was far away enough not to worry about it and the moon was only occasionally shining through the clouds. They were good to go.

He waited until the guards turned away and then sprinted towards the nearest rock. His heels kicked up dirt as they dug deep into the ground, which felt slippery underneath his feet. It must have rained in the past few hours.

The black Spartan slid into cover against a large rock, kicking up a tidal wave of mud and dirt. He had mistaken the humidity of the ground, resulting the wildest sliding since he had been vacating that swamp.

Good times.

'_Daenlith, move to the bushes to your eleven, on my go.'_

'_My eleven?'_

Damn, there were no clocks in Alagaesia, were there? '_Scratch that, the one a dozen metes away with the white flower.'_

'_Right.'_

He waited until the two guards crossed each other and turned their backs. '_Go.'_

The elf didn't hesitate a moment and burst into a low sprint. It was impressive to look at, as he had rarely seen anything move with the same level of grace that Spartans possessed. It still seemed unnatural that beings that looked so much like humans could move with such…elegance. It was nearly entrancing to watch.

Not for the first time, he wondered if elves used pheromones to gain the attraction of other species, or some low-level telepathic field.

With Daenlith safely behind cover up ahead, the rest could proceed. He contacted Othiara and ordered her to move up, which she did after a brief moment of hesitation. She joined him at the rock, not looking particularly overjoyed with his entrance. Her wards protected her against the mud though, so no complaining from that side.

'_What are their names?' _he asked her. Her mind felt as alien as every elven-mind did, but she was still nothing compared to the elf-Shade

'_Yaele and Edora,'_ she told him.

He nodded. '_Edora? To Daenlith. Move.'_

They went on like that, steadily moving closer and closer to the wall, until they were at its base. It was time to test the lethality of their group. The light of the moon broke through once more, bathing the ground in a milky, dull light. The walls were stocky, grey and full of points he could use to climb, but the issue would be balancing half a ton of Spartan and MJOLNIR and top of a few feeble rocks. More plans had gone wrong like that.

The two guards were in their way. They needed to be removed and to do that, he needed someone to sync up with.

'_Daenlith, on me.'_

'_I beg your pardon?'_

'_Get to my position. On me.'_

'_Forgive me, I thought something else.'_

Communication. It went stiff.

He directed the elf to a point seven meters to his left, underneath the wall. It was time to put her skills to good use. They were currently standing at the base of a forty-foot wall and it didn't look like it would be easy to scale for your average human. Then again, none of them _were_ average humans

'_Climb up the wall, get ready and wait for my go.'_

She didn't hesitate once. Whereas the other elves and even the ODST tended to be skeptical about him pulling the shots, she seemed fine with it. Why was that? Did she finally trust him? He probably shouldn't dwell on it.

And he shouldn't be dwelling on the rocks protruding from the wall either, as they barely sustained his weight. He crept up the stone wall with slow, exaggerated movements, as to not slide down and cause a ton of ruckus. He dug his gauntlets deep into the wall and the occasional pieces of rock clattered down. One of the guards marched closer to his position and he turned to face his companion, making sure that she saw his visor.

'_Get that guard.'_

The moment he finished his sentence, Daenlith shot up from her position at the wall and grabbed a handful of the unfortunate guard's tunic, before pulling him over the wall and breaking his neck with one smooth movement.

A clean, silent kill. A lady to his heart.

At the same time she burst into movement, Maine lunged for his own target. The man could only widen his eyes in surprise as the black shape appeared virtually from nowhere, grabbed his head and bashed it against the ramparts. The blow crushed the man's skull in an instant and Maine discarded the corpse.

'_White team, you're clear to proceed.'_

All members of the infiltration team followed suit. The elves all made their way to the wall and climbed it, with Maine and Daenlith making sure that there wouldn't be any unwelcome visitors. They hadn't been spotted yet and the remaining guards were far away enough to not be a threat to them. Only Wallcroft had trouble getting up the wall in time and when all the elves had jumped to the other side to take cover in the shadow of a tavern, the ODST was still stuck halfway up the wall, cursing under his breath. Didn't he see the protruding rocks?

"Screw this…screw the castle…screw the pointy's. Gimme my pod…wanna go down, not up…"

Maine didn't waste any with formulating a sentence in the Ancient Language and hauling the unlucky soldier twenty feet up the wall. Wallcroft landed on the stones with a dull 'thud', rolled onto his feet and immediately went to make his way down the other side again with more speed and success than any of the previous elves, barring those who had jumped down.

Daenlith and Othiara had to step to the side to dodge the falling soldier, who rolled a few times and wiped the dirt off his shoulder-pads as if nothing had happened at all. Maine shook his head at the spectacular display and reminded himself that ODST's were experts at descending things, be it walls or atmospheres.

Still, it was a good thing to know that these soldiers had their strong-points in all sorts of different areas. Graveyard Shadeslayer, the sniper. Whiskey-Bravo, the diplomat. And now Sergeant Wallcroft, certified descender.

The Spartan made his own way down the large wall and tried to get a good bearing on the city. Feinster was a harbor city, bordering on an ocean. The castle was tall, square and possessed many towers where archers and scouts could spot them from. There were lots of other active buildings around, like taverns and homes and the like, but there was nobody in their direct vicinity.

Maine signaled Wallcroft to move up and take cover on top of the closest building, a two-story house. After that, he waited until one lantern-wielding guard was done scratching his beard and told Daenlith to move up as well. She positioned herself against a wall of one of the less brightly-lit rooms and held position there.

Waiting in a dark alley, the Spartan watched one of the guards edge closer to his position. The man carried a halberd and had a lantern attached to his belt. Why there were so many guards around was beyond him, but it wasn't going to make his job any harder because of it. The only problem was his partner, who kept the man constantly in his view. Luckily, he had elves.

'_Yaele, guard to your right. Put him to sleep.'_

Yaele, a silver-haired elf that was somewhat smaller than Arya or Daenlith, dropped down from the roof and muttered something. A few seconds later, the man fell over.

'_Hide the body, or his friends will spot him.'_

That left Maine free to kill his own target, which he did. He shot out of the dark corner he had been using as cover –in plain sight- and wrapped an armoured arm around the guard's neck. One small pull of his elbow, one minor twitch of his fingers and the man would die. It would be so simple.

He tightened his grip and felt his target pull and twitch, groaning at the unyielding force pinning him down. The occasional growl and groan escaped his mouth with pieces of spittle, but it had no effect. The second his movements ceased, the Spartan dropped his body and hauled it over to the nearest corridor, where he gently placed him down against the wall, like a drunkard that had fallen asleep. It had to do.

The body of his partner had been removed too. They were clear to proceed.

When Maine led the group through the streets, occasionally taking out guards or beggars without alerting anybody else, something came over him. He didn't know what, or how, but a chill ran down his spine and he held up his fist, signaling the team to stop. Something was wrong…something was terribly wrong. What ghost-signatures had the ship spotted? What could have possibly pinged a Destroyer's radar but a very large signature? This was wrong. All wrong.

But he couldn't stop now. They had to investigate the signal. But after that, they were pulling out of there.

He cautiously led White team to the harbor area, whereupon he promptly ordered them to stop and fan out in a loose perimeter, covering all sides. This was the place, but where was Black team?

Maine contacted one of the marines and ordered Sergeant Wallcroft to secure a fallback-route. "_This is White-one. We have reached the target, how copy?"_

"_Meesters Black-one copies, we're taking a detour, over. The Empire has increased patrols in our area. Any sign of the derelict contact?"_

"_Negative Black-one, all clear on our front. Sea's unruly, ships are gone, but no contact. Stay alert out there."_

"_Roger that, going dark, patrol's approaching."_

He terminated the link and took a deep breath. There was probably nothing to worry about. A flock of Lethrblaka perhaps, or even an enemy dragon, but nothing they needed to worry about. In fact, the only reason for Saphira and Aeraleth to stay away from the city was because they'd alert the guards.

The clouds were rolling in odd patterns and the moon disappeared again. It had to be storm activity. It all added up; the unruly sea, the odd cloud-formation and the radar-blips. As soon as that was cleared up, they could move towards the next city co capture.

The Spartan was about to turn away and contact the rest of the team when something detached itself from the clouds. It was a dark form, bulbous and slow. The occasional light arced across its surface, but the clouds weren't affected. What was-?

Then it hit him. The dark, moving blob on the horizon, so covered in the shadow of the night, wasn't a cloud at all. It wasn't storm-interference or strange contacts.

It was a Covenant Destroyer. Sleek, dark and deadly, it was more than a match for the _When Duty Ends. _He had to warn Wren, he had to warn everyone!

But the Destroyer wasn't alone. Another shape detached from the sky, larger and with a curving, bulbous shape. A frigate.

Two ships. The Covenant. But how? They had fallen apart; the Elites were on an official cease-fire with humanity, this didn't make sense!

Maine hit the global frequency and barked, "_All UNSC assets, the Covenant is on Alagaesia. Repeat, the Covenant is on Alagaesia! Advice immediate fallback, over!"_

The responses were immediate and chaotic. Multiple voices started talking throughout the communication-channel and for a few nervous seconds, he feared that he would have to cut the channel short again. He could see the elves staring with wonder at the sky, standing up and gazing at what had to be the most amazing sight in their eyes.

Until the two ships unleashed multiple waves of dropships. It was strange on its own that the Covenant didn't just start glassing the area, or engage the _When Duty Ends _that had to have been in their range. Why hadn't they done that yet? Was this the same as Installation 04, where the Covenant had been afraid to target the cruiser for fear of damaging the Halo?

Then, one voice broke through. "_All personnel, this is Captain Wren speaking. Fall back to positions with cover, like the mountains or forests. Stay away from the cities."_

That sounded like the Captain was mobilizing. Where was the Varden's army? The dwarves, the elves? What was going on?

"We can't stay here," he shouted. The pulsating humming that the two ships were causing simply by being present in the atmosphere was enough to break their stealth on its own, let alone the fact that two kilometer-sized vessels were currently descending the atmosphere. "Fall back to the walls! Now!"

The swarms of dropships that the ships had released were getting closer now. At least half a dozen made their way to Feinster and they rapidly grew in size. Maine was surprised to see that they were Spirits, not Phantoms, as evident by angular, fork-shaped bays. They resembled massive U's and he knew from experience how many troops those bays could drop off. Spirits might have fewer cannons to bring to the fight, but their one cannon had more firepower. He had seen unaware Marines torn apart by those cannons and he wasn't about to put it to the test.

"Move, get to cover! It's the Covenant!"

Sergeant Wallcroft was the first one to react. He grabbed Yaele by her shoulder and pulled her from the docks into the water below, just in time to avoid a deadly strafing-run that reduced the entire docks to burning pieces of scattered wood. The two of them disappeared from sight.

Daenlith and Othiara had the sense to scatter and disappear from the sudden battlefield that Feinster had become. They sprinted for cover and separated near a dark alley, while the Spirit Dropships flew overhead and started shooting at random targets throughout the city. People started screaming, houses started burning and the entire city came to a violent wake.

Maine pulled his rifle out and aimed at the nearest Spirit, which touched down a dozen meters to his right. It positioned itself with the left bay aimed directly at him, which was something he had no problems with whatsoever. He forced his doubts and uncertainty about the current situation out of his mind and concentrated on what needed to be done. Right now, there were Covenant troops that needed killing and they were providing him with all the means needed to do so.

The Spirit opened its troop bays, the cannon mounted on the underside of the cockpit still spinning around to track individual targets. The barrel glowed white-hot and unleashed several bolts of searing plasma, which sped his way with near-blinding speed.

But he was still a Spartan. He twisted his upper body and the first bolt passed him by, closer than he would like. The internal temperature in his suit jumped multiple degrees and his shields flared at the intense heat.

At the same time, the collection of alien species jumped out of their seats, lined up perfectly for some perfect headshots. He counted seven Grunts, four Jackels and two Brutes, much to his frustration. Elites were easier to kill. Smarter, but somewhat weaker.

He took aim with his assault rifle and opened fire. Before the aliens could even get their claws on the ground, he had killed four of the grunts and two of the Jackels, as their heads were completely unguarded. The bullets tore through their heads and splattered the ground with the blue and purple blood he was so familiar with. The two Brutes, more than eight feet tall and both of them wearing simple helmets, roared at him. Only their forearms were left unarmoured, though their snarling faces didn't leave a thing to the imagination. Drooling, lined with razor-sharp teeth and oozing malice. Just as he remembered them.

The Spirit had finished dropping its troops and took off again, still hosing the area with deadly plasma fire. The occasional civilian would run out in the open to check up on what was going on, only to be cut down by the ship's Heavy Plasma Cannon. One of them screamed his last as one of his legs was blown off, the shock of the injury finishing him off within seconds.

Maine could feel his blood start to boil, but not just with pent-up anger. It was the sheer suddenness of the situation; the Covenant hadn't even been on the surface for more than a few _seconds _and they were already mercilessly butchering civilians. It frustrated him. The bolts of green and blue plasma that burned down everything they hit frustrated him and the _jabbering _of the Grunts _frustrated_ him to no end.

Jackels flared their shields on, Grunts screamed in panic as they saw their dreaded Demon return fire and the Brutes were not immediately returning fire with their weapons. He didn't allow them to regroup though; he kept firing and brandished a grenade, ready to use it the second he had an opening. The Power Armour of the Brutes came apart under a hail of Armour-piercing rounds and, when his clip ran empty, the grenade served to liberate one Brute from his lower body. The animal was still screaming when his torso hit the ground and just when Maine was about to stomp its skull in with a curb-stomp, the other Brute smashed into with him a double-handed blow.

The impact rattled his teeth and drained his shields forty percent, but it also served to fuel his anger. The Brute roared a challenge at him, its arms spread wide and spittle flying out of its gaping jaws. Maine suppressed the urge to scream back and assumed a martial position, his arms held up high and his fingers poised to strike.

The alien was going berserk at the death of its ally and for those few moments, it was enough to make its allies stop firing. Even without the blue Power Armour that had served to protect it, it could still make short work of anything short of a Hunter. One of them had almost wrestled the Master Chief and won. He needed to be careful.

Only he wasn't going to be careful. He wanted to tear the bastard to pieces with his bare hands, rip his head off and bathe the ground with its blood.

The Brute came charging at him with its arms wide apart, screaming at the top of its lungs. A warm, fuzzy feeling took control over the Spartan, numbing his further thought-processes and limiting him only to the pain he was going to inflect. The splatters of blood on his visor. The burning _hatred _giving way.

He still managed to keep himself on one location, as it was suicide to charge a berserking Brute head-on. The raging alien jumped at him, brought its fists together for another hammer-blow. Maine stepped forwards with his right leg, formed his right hand into a claw and struck with all the force he could muster. His hooked thumb sunk deep into the Brute's eye-socket, which felt spongy and soft. Different from human sockets.

The alien collided with the Spartan and the two of them fell to the ground in a tangled heap of armour and rock-dense muscles. The stuck thumb was torn free with a powerful cleave, ripping through the monster's face and splattering the dark ground with blood. It howled and clawed at its ruined face, the fury with which it pounded the Spartan increasing tremendously. With both hands, it struck at the armoured form underneath him, bashing away at shields until they popped, screaming in agony and hatred.

Shared hatred, mutual in all its intensity. Maine tore and broke at everything he could get his hands on in a fit of fury. He ignored the dull whining of an automatic alarm in his helmet, he ignored the fact that he was pinned down and unarmed. All he cared for was utilizing every weapon in his arsenal to destroy the foe that was pinning him to the ground with its bulk. He ripped the other eye free, shattered teeth with his fists and pulverized muscles with his feet. He augmented his attacks with magic, feverishly ruining the internal organs of the ravaging alien until the pounding fists stopped. At that point, he hauled the creature off of him and crawled to his feet again.

Maine could taste blood in his mouth. Somewhere, somehow, things inside of his body had been broken and twisted. Hemorrhaged, torn. It didn't matter. What mattered was killing the enemy.

As the gore-covered Spartan turned around to face the remaining group of aliens, he found himself smiling. The Jackels found themselves screaming, the Grunts found themselves losing utter control. All found themselves dying.

Only when there was nothing left alive in his immediate vicinity, did Maine manage to calm down. The ground was littered with blood, bodies and the pieces that had once belonged to bodies. He was heaving, his chest rising and falling faster than he knew it should be. He had to calm down. He had to keep his head. Warn Aeraleth away. Find Daenlith. Link up with…with…which team? Colour…which colour?

He needed to find the others.

There was gunfire and the dull whining of plasma-firing everywhere. Mostly plasma. Screaming people too. Feinster was compromised.

"-_repeat, all hands, brace for impact-" _

Someone was talking through his radio. It sounded like the Captain. Wren. He needed to focus.

The air warped and shimmered and for a split-second, Maine felt something pulling at him. Then the whole world seemed to explode all around him –a massive explosion went off in the distance, somewhere in the sky, and every single thing just went off in a mass combination of debris, wood-splinters and shockwaves. Waves of sheer overpressure washed over him and knocked him to the ground again, where he was pelted by pieces of wood and stone and what had to have been metal.

_MAC round, _he thought, once he had regained his senses. Adrenaline helped with that. _Wren hit a ship with a MAC_.

"_This is the When Duty Ends. We'll give those dumb apes something bigger to shoot at. Get clear of Feinster immediately."_

That was one of the navigators. Was Wren seriously going to engage to two Covenant ships on his own?

Sergeant Wallcroft must have thought the same thing. "_Sir, with all due respect, the Duty won't be able to handle two ships of that tonnage."_

The Captain's response was immediate and determined. "_Watch us."_

Maine slowly got up again, brushing pieces of wood off his shoulders. The pressure wave of the in-atmosphere impact had been enormous; enough to blow nearly every house in the middle parts of Feinster apart. Only the castle and the walls were still standing, ironically. Most of the Spirit Dropships had left again, though the occasional straggler would stay behind to strafe civilians, of course. The sounds of war and death were audible from all directions and he did not linger once. Arya and Eragon would keep each other safe. Wallcroft had Yaele, the Marines would keep themselves safe.

Daenlith. She needed his help. He'd be damned if he was going to lose her.

He started marching towards one particular direction, reloading his rifle as he went, until he remembered that everybody had split up and that he had no idea where she was. But he still had his mind, as feverish and messed-up as it was. He carefully extended his consciousness in an area around himself, taking notice of the many dozens of alien minds all around him. He'd get to breaking them later.

It didn't take him long to find the mind he was looking for. After all, the flattening of the entire city had to have limited people's ability to move somewhat. People were still screaming everywhere and bodies littered the ground on all places. Covenant troopers were moving through the ruined structures like death-squads, exterminating every human they encountered. Grunts, Jackels, Brutes…no Hunters or vehicles, luckily, though the air-support was likely to arrive sooner than later.

Some buildings had miraculously survived the overpressure; a few keeps, or strong towers with stone foundations had managed to remain standing. The firefight he was looking for was taking place around one such structure; a large tower that might have once served as a watch-tower had half collapsed during the fighting, forming a rough arc of stone across a few meters of ground. Buildings were scattered around the fallen tower, some of them still moderate intact, all of them filled with human bodies. Covenant soldiers were positioned around the tower, firing at a lone form that was taking shelter underneath the fallen rubble. There were alien bodies as well; Grunts, some Jackels and even one Brute lay slumped across the ground like unceremonious ragdolls. The Brute lay only a few feet away from the tower.

Maine scanned the battlefield and spotted several sniping Jackels on the rooftops, carrying large Beam Rifles that enabled them to create small, smoking holes in the heads of any soldier unlucky to get in their sights. Brutes and Grunts were firing away like a trigger-happy firing squad, blasting the tower apart by piece. Daenlith had sought cover underneath the arc and a body lay at her feet, burned by plasma. Edora the elf. Dead.

He sighted in on the nearest sniper and shot him in the head. After that, he slowly moved towards the only being he wanted to keep alive in this fight, shooting everything that didn't have a human face in the head. Jackels were felled through the small lapses of cover, like their feet and their fingers, while Grunts went up in large fireballs because of the methane in their tanks.

"Spartan!" Daenlith cried as she saw him approach her. She sounded desperate and scared and if the look on her face was anything to go by, she was bordering on psychological shock.

His reply existed out punting a Grunt against a wall and emptying half a clip into the face of a crimson-clad Brute, which only barely managed to finish it off.

"Daenlith," he shouted. Her eyes widened when she saw the condition of his armour, but she kept silent. "What's your status?"

"They got Edora," she whispered, flinching as a green bolt fizzled through the air. "Cut through her wards. Couldn't do a thing-"

"We're getting out of here," he told her. Her leather clothes were torn and scraped and there were multiple scrapes and scratches on her legs. Her Wards had failed her too. "Can you move?"

She took a shuddering and closed her eyes. Then she nodded. "I believe so…"

Maine reached for her shoulder, but stopped himself halfway through the gesture. Bad idea. "Stay behind me." When the elf nodded, he spun around the fallen pieces of stone and scanned for enemies again. Three Brutes, another ten Grunts and a bunch of Jackels. Coming in from all directions, brandishing plasma weaponry and grenades.

He had two clips left and one sidearm. With two clips left. He couldn't get her out safely. They couldn't get out safely. Eragon and his team could be dead, Wren was about to get himself killed buying them time and he couldn't focus on what needed to be done. They needed help, more firepower and more magic. He needed to think of something to solve this. He knew there was a way to use magic to turn this fight to his advantage, but he couldn't think of one. His mind felt sluggish and slow, like he had just woken up from Cryo-sleep.

"Behind us," shouted Daenlith. "They are outflanking us!"

Maine cursed under his breath and opened fire on the Brutes, as they were the biggest threat. The rounds shredded their armour, but didn't do more than piss the aliens off. It took a lot of firepower to kill these things and he didn't _have _the firepower needed. He had to change the rules, he had to think of something-

Plasma fire impacted on the walls next to him and drained his shields. One Grunt took aim at Daenlith and he instinctively moved to cover her, letting the shot splash across his chest. Shields fifty percent and holding.

Daenlith shouted something and one of the Brutes went up in flames, screaming and roaring as its flesh was consumed by the searing heat. In its last moment, it seemed to turn to the one thing it knew; it berserked.

The elf didn't see that her foe was still alive and focused on the Jackels, killing them with similar methods. The Brute bellowed and sprinted towards them with speeds that rivalled a charging Hunter. With its iron-banded muscles, it could tear any elf apart without difficulty. He couldn't have that.

Maine pulled out is combat knife and charged into the open, aiming for the Brute that had abandoned its cover for one last suicidal attack. Its entire body was alight; it was a miracle that it was still alive.

He sidestepped the alien's sluggish punch and plummeted his knife deep into the base of its neck, slamming the ten-inch blade all the way into the alien body. Then he pulled it out, pieces of meat caught on the hooked teeth on its back. Another position, stabbed it back in. Out, in. Blood spurted everywhere and the flaming Brute uttered one last guttural scream before it simply died.

The Spartan didn't get the time to fall back to cover again and more plasma splashed across his shields, impacting on his right leg and left shoulder. His shielding gave way and the temperature rose to dangerous levels inside of his suit.

More Brutes arrived, screaming orders and bellowing in rage. Three Grunts pulled out their plasma grenades, primed them and came charging at his position. He had to drop his rifle to pull out his Sidearm and when he took aim at the nearest suicide-bomber, he sotted a sniper taking aim at Daenlith.

So he shifted aim and took that one down first. Two of the Grunts the fell under his fire, but the third one collapsed before he could even take it in his sights. The bones in its legs had simply shattered, no doubt due to magic.

Maine made mental note to thank Daenlith in the future and turned to his twelve again, aiming at a cluster of Jackels that had been attempting to flank them. But he was too slow, and another Brute charged down the lane, firing his plasma rifle all the while. He couldn't get all of them, he was spread too thinly. He had to prioritize.

The elf he was trying to cover popped out from cover again and shouted another phrase, sending dozens of projectiles towards the Jackels in an attempt to kill them like she would humans. But the aliens assumed a phalanx position by covering themselves with their energy shields and the spikes merely bounced off of the shimmering safeguards.

And the Brute opened fire once more, sending multiple bolts of plasma down the range. One splashed across Daenlith's left shoulder, knocking her against the wall and interrupting her next spell. A second later, another two rounds hit her frail, unprotected body, one on her side and one on her hip.

There was no screaming. No shouting or crying. The dauntless elf slumped against the wall and fell to the ground, unmoving.

And something broke inside of Maine's head.

~0~

The air was rumbling with a deep, threatening vibration. Aeraleth could feel it in her stomach and she did not like it. The sky seemed to be tearing apart, with massive _things _appearing from above. They came from where no dragon dared to tread and it frightened her. They must have been gods, only gods didn't exist…did they? What else could have been massive enough to blot out the sky itself like that? Their massiveness…the sheer _presence _of it all…it was too much for her mind to comprehend.

So she reverted to the basics. Her Rider was in danger, Saphira's Rider was in danger and all their two-legged allies were in danger. She knew that. As soon as her Rider had looked up and spotted the god-like _things_, a flare of alert shot through their mental link with such intensity that she couldn't help but feel panicked herself. What were these things that they frightened her Rider like that?

Aeraleth got her answer. The giant vessels released many, many smaller creatures that she first took to be the death-bats that had been harassing them for so long. But they were not. From her position in the sky, she could see that the creatures attacked the groundside two-legged warriors with what appeared to be purple bolts of light. The bolts impacted on the wooden dens that the two-legs used to live in and set them on fire as if they had been unleashed by a dragon. The smell was bad, even from such a distance that the city appeared to be small like a lake from above. It was the scent of death and fire, which she had come to associate with the Starborn creatures.

She broke off from her established route in the air and advanced onto the human city, as did Saphira. One of the two-legs pulled a pointy-ear into the water and several hearbeats later, the dragonfire from the not-dragons absolutely destroyed the wooden ground they were standing on. It tore through the layers of wood as if they weren't even there and when the bolts impacted with the water, they threw up enormous columns of not-smoke.

Despite the overwhelming enemy air-presence, Maine still told her to keep her distance.

She halted, but she did not stop. The multiple vessels that were now swarming the city were delivering tidal-waves of strangely coloured creatures. Yellow, red, green, blue, like they adhered to the rules of a rainbow. They looked nothing like the two-legs, pointy-ears and hairy-ones she knew. There were small creatures with a massive, pointed hump on their back, ferocious-looking ones with birdlike features and big, massive ones that resembled the horned-ones.

Their vessels, which might have been similar to the Starborn ones, looked odder than anything she had ever seen in her young life. They had two prominent arms, which made up the main bulk of their shape, purple and slotted in the middle. The small body that carried the arms had something akin to a talon hanging underneath it, which was shooing that purple fire at the people below.

One of them targeted her and she tucked her wings in to avoid its deadly fire. She couldn't attract the attention of the other vessels, lest they overwhelm her. But her bloodlust was hard to contain and in the middle of her sideways roll, she decided to go on the offensive.

Aeraleth was no fool though; the purple fire came from the underside of the things, like a dragon could only breathe fire from the mouth. She rose above her designated target, dodging incoming fire as she went, before she sped down towards it. Despite the impossible speed with which it had approached the city, it couldn't dodge her lunge. She collided with the vessel, her talons spread out for maximum death.

Her talons clawed at warm metal, her teeth tore into powerful armour. It felt as if she was attempting to bite through the neck of one many times her age and it just wouldn't do.

So she changed tactics. She pushed one wing away from her body and caught wind. Then, she jerked towards the right and heaved the vessel with her. She only let go at the last moment, after which she managed to escape a painful crash into the solid ground underneath them.

The purple monster wasn't so lucky; one of its arms skidded across the ground and suddenly, the entire thing tilted over and smashed into a nearby den.

Aeraleth huffed with pride at the demise of that enemy, but she didn't get more than a few moments to enjoy the sight of its burning body, as the sky suddenly turned against her. A massive _something _smashed into her chest and knocked her straight out of the sky. Her large body smashed into the ground with a violent crash and for the next few moments, it seemed like she had accidentally wrecked the entire city with her antics. From her prone position on her back she could see every single building around her collapse like they were held up by twigs and leaves.

Oops. Had she done that?

She crawled back to her stomach and shook herself. Pieces of wood and rubble went all directions and once more, she understood that her thick scales had protected her. Yet she wasn't undamaged; the fire might have missed her, but they had still managed to burn her. They had missed, yet they hadn't. It was confusing. There were multiple places on her upper body that burned and itched and a specific spot on her tail hurt.

The vessels were leaving, leaving their fallen one behind, but the den was infested with monsters. Little things that carried flaring circles on their paws, smaller things that squealed like freshly-hatched dragons and large ones that had shiny scales. They were all completely new to her, yet they were strangely familiar. Where had she seen them before?

A trio of the ones with circle-lights on their paws ran toward her through the rubble that had been created by _not-_her-fault. They jabbered with rough voices, yet their bodies seemed small and frail.

They were enemies, so they had to die. Aeraleth inhaled through her nostrils and released a thick stream of fire, which still burned her throat and dried her out. The all-consuming flames enveloped the shimmer-circles before they could react and she knew from experience that they had perished, for only a rare few could withstand her fire.

But as it turned out, these things belonged to the rare few. Two of them had been turned to charred corpses that her Rider had told her were inedible, but the third one had protected itself in some manner. Aeraleth noticed that its shimmering circle had disappeared, but that it had readied another claw inside of its claw. It flashed green and exploded without sound and the next second, a stab of pain ran through her left leg.

She hissed in pain as the pain intensified and vented her fury by turning the screeching thing into a smear on the ground with the same limb it had wounded. The creature was crushed underneath her grip with even more ease than a normal two-leg, but they leaked purple instead of red. That was interesting.

Satisfied that her attacker was sufficiently dead, Aeraleth ducked low and advanced deeper into the ruined den. Her Rider had attempted to shield his mind off from her, hiding a curious turmoil of emotions that she hadn't felt from him before. Whatever these funny little things were, he didn't seem to like them.

And then it struck her. He had made a fairth about them! These were the enemies of his people, the dreaded…alien-things…Cov-somethings. Bad creatures.

The air smelled like burnt-animal. It was a bad smell though; corrupt, intense. Nothing like dragon-fire. Was it the two-legs that were being murdered by these Covthings? They weren't specifically important to her or her Rider, but they were still of his race. Probably. She should do something to help them. Probably.

She stumbled upon a family of two-legs being killed by two of the big things. One as yellow, the other was blue. Their weapons caused terrible, smelly wounds on the unarmed two-legs, who screamed and begged for mercy. It didn't help. The yellow one had a weapon that was about half the size of her head, including the large blade that stuck out of its end.

And that one noticed her. Whatever would she do now?

Follow her instincts of course. Aeraleth shot forwards and tried to eat the thing, but that didn't work out that well. Its yellow skin was stronger than she had expected and had a slippery trait to it, preventing her from tasting it with her tongue to get a good sense on how to kill it. So she bit down harder and was rewarded with the pleasant sensation of her prey _breaking _in-between her jaws, their bones snapping apart underneath her fearsome teeth.

The Covthign tasted disgusting, so she it out and stomped on it. Serves that thing.

The blue one screamed something about a "pack" and a "feast" , but Aeraleth disagreed with it. They were not worthy of a feast, as they tasted horrible. And they were smelly.

It shot its weapon at her and again, her skin sizzled and stung. But the pain only angered her and when the creature bellowed at her, she _roared _back with unrestrained fury. It needed to know that _she _was its superior and that it was going to _die._

And die it did. When it came running towards her with that silly shimmery set of scales, she showed him what the fire of dragons should be capable of. It stripped its scales clean off and unleashed something that looked like a shaven, walking bear, with a face that would have given her nightmares had she not been ten times bigger.

As the thingie was screaming in pain –or hatred- Aeraleth swept at it with her right paw and sent it flying.

Their weapons were painful, but they were still capable of dying. The Partner-of-Soul had made it sound like they were invincible monsters, which they only were to two-legs. Perhaps they were like the Ra'zac; specialized predators that only served-

A wave of pure, uncontrolled emotions washed over her consciousness and drove out all of Aeraleth's thoughts. She could feel hatred, unconventional and uncontrollable hatred. It drove out all of her senses and thoughts until there was nothing left but the burning, agonizing violence that her Partner-of-Heart wanted to inflect on the world.

And it hurt her. It hurt her _so _much to know that the first, true emotional outburst of her Rider had to be hatred. What had happened? Was it these things? Did they cause his state? If that were the case, her duty was clear.

She needed to remove that which caused him pain. She needed to kill every Covthing that was setting its filthy claws on this den.

Aerlaeth could feel her Rider nearby. She could feel his fury, his hatred, his _pain_. Her interest and humor in the situation immediately made way for doubt and _fear._ Fear at what her Rider was going to do now that his control was gone. For that was what had just happened; all the mental walls and defenses in his mind had fallen apart, broken to pieces under some terrible incident.

She needed to find him. Stop him before he got huty.

The mental link was absolute. Aeraleth was on the receiving end of absolutely uncharacteristic levels of aggression. Not even the wildest of dragons could compare to what Maine's current state of mind was. It wasn't him who was currently controlling his body, it was something else. Something that Aeraleth knew would become her worst enemy. _Their _worst enemy.

The monsters didn't let up. She needed to got to her Rider and keep him safe. But they couldn't stop; even the tiniest amount of her partners fury invigorated her, made her forget about the fire that had struck her body and empowered the fire that ran through her veins. The small ones she encountered were no match for her unbridled power and their frail bodies gave way underneath her force. It was only when she encountered another golden monster that she began to understand why the two-legs were dying like they did.

It roared at her and waved its bladed stick through the air. Aeraleth wanted to set it alight and tear it apart, she really did, but something warm impacted on her chest and before she knew it, she screamed in pain. It was impossible, but something had…had pierced her chest-scales and _hurt _her with white-hot pain and terrible burns.

In blind fury, she slammed the monster against a wall. Again and again and again. And it _didn't _die! It screamed and gurgled and growled, but it stayed alive. And then, in an fit of sudden strength and fury, the creature that was so much smaller than she was pried her talons apart and punched her in her chest, with pounding fists.

Aeraleth roared in fury and stuck at the creature with the end of her tail, striking it in the head. Its body held, though, as the head didn't get torn free of its body like she was used to. She was forced to grab the monster in the jaws and tear its lower body off with her talons, showering the ground with strange blood and pieces of gore. Then she stomped on its upper torso for good measure, until her nails were slick with fluid and nothing remained

Now that the impossible creature lay scattered across the ground, she could focus on the bigger picture. Find Rider, get out of city, find people, kill monsters. That was needed to be done.

With those thoughts cemented firmly in her mind, she crossed what little ground separated her from her beloved Spartan. She expected weapon-fire and explosions, but there wasn't. There was just screaming.

Screaming unlike she had ever heard before. It was animalistic, desperate and violent. Like an enraged hunter slaughtering and butchering its prey without mercy.

It wasn't like Maine. It wasn't like him to lose control like this and it wasn't like him to cause such an enormous bloodbath as he had caused, in the center of this…this graveyard. The area was absolutely littered with bodies, large and small, filled with blue blood or purple blood. Their bodies had been torn apart by some wild animal, like a wolf would tear a rabbit apart. And Aeraleth could see her Rider, fighting with another massive monster, his armour overed in blood and gore.

Fighting was an understatement though. The Spartan was pulling at the neck of the horned-one-like creature, tearing and slicing away with his black blade. He was carving a giant hole into the monster's neck, going at it, until the bloody wound was large enough for him to stick his armoured fingers in. Then, he _heaved _and tore the fanged head free in part, showering the ground with more gore.

Aeraleth watched the body of the monster fall to the ground. It didn't satisfy her Rider; he snarled menacingly and slashed at the collapsed body until the head was an unrecognizable mess, slashed and gored by his sheer bulk.

And she knew why. Heavens she knew why. All these bodies, all this death and murder? The source was the body of a small, petite elf, slumped against the broken-down wall of a collapsed tower. She still radiated heat, so it couldn't be dead.

But Maine couldn't know that. He was just standing there, looking down at the broken body of his hated enemy. Aeraleth could _feel _the despair washing off of him in untold levels, feel his pain and anger and confusion. She couldn't feel if Daenlith was going to survive the next few levels, so she needed to be swift.

'_Maine? We need to escape this death-trap.'_

He didn't reply.

'_Can you…hear me? Can you move?'_

No reply.

'_Partner of mine, won't you answer me?'_

'_They're here,'_ replied a small portion of his mind. '_They're here…'_

Aeraleth looked around cautiously, trying to spot any new enemies in the darkness. The little elf wasn't moving. '_Maine, Daenlith will not survive without help.'_

He looked up. Blood was dripping from his clenched fists. '_I don't remember. I don't remember how to help. How to heal.'_

'_Neither do I. We shall find our allies and escape this dreaded place. Maine…are you with me?'_

No reply.

'_I said, are you with me?'_

'_Yes…yes I am…Aeraleth, help me. Help her. Please.'_

Aeraleth nudged him with her jaw, not caring for the blood that stuck to his suit. '_No matter the cost. Pick up Daenlith…gently! And stay close to me.'_


	30. Brimstone pt II

**Invasion of Feinster, 10 minutes ago.**

The sky was tearing itself apart. Dozens upon dozens of dragon-like creatures swarmed towards the city, like angry hornets buzzing out of their nest to throw themselves at the unlucky creature that had disturbed them. Only these things were large, so much larger. They were really as large as dragons were! Their forms were strange and bulky and yet they flew with more speed than Saphira could have mustered.

And Eragon watched as a group of them broke off towards the city, showering it with angry purple flashes that tore through everything they touched, setting alight roofs and buildings and melting the very ground itself.

"It's the Covenant! Move!" Whiskey-Bravo –known as Meester to his peers- shouted and pulled at Eragon's shoulder. He realized he had been gawking at the air like an idiot and quickly tore his gaze away, following the more experienced soldier towards the nearest building. He couldn't see Arya, didn't know where the other two soldiers were. People were screaming and running, leaving their doomed homes and attempting to get to safety. But there was no safety from the fire that came from above. The bolts of magic –for it had to have been weaponized magic- burned through everything they touched. From underneath the roof of the tavern that the soldier had pulled him into, Eragon could see it all. He could see innocent civilians being struck by purple fire, which tore through their bodies like a candle through paper. He saw one unfortunate woman being struck near her hips, which blew her right leg clean off. She screamed and fell, the smell of burning flesh already starting to become noticeable.

"We can't stay here," said the voice of his companion. "We need to move!"

Eragon only barely heard it. He couldn't look away from the amount of death and destruction that the vessels were causing. People were dying, burning, screaming. Houses were torn apart like the thick layers of wood didn't mean a thing and nobody was helping the wounded woman, who had stopped moving already. Was she dead? Unconscious?

"Eragon!"

He winced as another bolt of death struck the pavement and scraped his throat, trying to find the words to reply. "Yes?" No words came out. His throat was still too sore.

"We need to get out of here!"

Eragon coughed a few times and found his voice again. Most of his injuries had been healed after that strange demon had laid waste to Helian, but magic was not infallible. He had a few leftover-scars and his throat still felt like he had spent a century eating coals. "Not without Arya. We need to find her!"

One of the bolts struck the building they were hiding underneath and set it on fire. Meester cursed and checked his weapon. "Listen to me kid. You want to search for her, I won't stop you. But you will go through a new kind of hell. Wanna hear the alternative?"

He shook his head. "No. We are finding her."

"Good. Because I wasn't going to give you an alternative. She couldn't have gone far."

It made sense that she hadn't gone far. They had only been a house or two apart last time he checked, even though that distance might as well have been an eternity away. The two of them waited until the sky was clear enough to risk a brief run, before charging across the street and moving towards the series of houses where Arya and the two marines had been standing when the hell had broken loose. Eragon was faster than the soldier, but that was to be expected. It wouldn't help him a lot for what they were planning though.

Were these the ancient enemies of the Starborn humans? The monsters that had come to burn their worlds down with fire and destruction, relentless and merciless? If so, how were they going to fight them? They were with many. Too many.

Meester slid underneath a piece of rubble and gestured for Eragon to do the same. Another purple vessel sailed overhead, causing the air to vibrate and hum. It must have spotted something interesting, as it slowed down and landed on the other side of the houses. He could hear high-pitched giggling and jabbering, before a series of rumbling barks and growls that could have Glaedr proud shut them up.

"Soldiering one-oh-one," the soldier muttered as he slid a silvery object across the ground, the sound of which was drowned out by another roar and very human screaming. Something made an odd whirling sound, like a spear soaring through the air, and the screaming reached a higher pitch before abruptly stopping.

More giggling.

Eragon reached for what was obviously a weapon and observed it. It was large, but not so large that he couldn't hold it with one hand. There was something to wrap his hand around, something that his index-finger needed to press and a hole at the end where projectiles came out of. A gun. More projectiles than a crossbow, each with the power of a ballista. Yes, that had to be it. A ballista-crossbow in a compact package.

Leaving the crashed pieces of wood, Meester reached for his own weapon and held it in front of him. "Look at it like this. See those pieces of metal on top? Yes? That is where the bullet will go." He was talking with a hushed, hurried voice, and with good reason. Eragon hadn't even seen the monsters responsible for all this senseless murder and he was already more frightened than he had ever been before. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his blood rushing in his ears and a terrible nausea in his stomach. "I don't have much ammo. Use the clip, then magic. Don't shoot the shields-"

"What shields?"

"-and keep your head low. We're going to ambush them as soon as they arrive."

More time than that wasn't possible. Meester gestured for him to hide and then took cover behind a nearby wall. Eragon took his hint and did the same, hiding inside of an abandoned building. He could hear them; clattering of nails, scraping of metal against wood, enthusiastic growling. Monsters. The stuff of nightmares. The UNSC's mortal enemy.

He called upon his magical reserves and formulated a few spells for himself. There were plenty of sharp objects around; knives, stones, pieces of wood. Normally he would not resort to such inhumane methods, but his foe was not human.

Mere seconds after he had gathered his arsenal, one of the burst free of its hinges. A massive shape stepped into view, far larger and broader than any human. It looked somewhat like an urgal, only…_meaner_. Taller than Spartan, armed with some large gun with spikes on it. Even in the starry night, its golden armour was clearly visible. Shimmering, with an elaborate head-piece with two spikes sticking out of it. Only a slit with the eyes was visible. That would be his target.

He saw Meester making a cutting gesture to his throat, mouthing the word "wait".

So Eragon waited. Waited until more creatures followed the big one and when they did, he had to clasp his hand in front of his mouth to keep himself quiet. The soldiers that followed the big one were absolutely horrifying; three of them had terrible hump-backs and strange metal faces and the other three looked like walking dogs, with protruding snouts and clawed hands. They also had frills made out of feathers on top of their heads.

The big one stopped and the dog-things started sniffling. Then they hissed, more terrible than the Ra'zac, and spheres of light flared to life on their arms. Circles of green light, that shimmered and pulsated and hurt to look at.

Meester pocketed one of the spheres that could explode and pulled the pin, holding on to it for two seconds.

The lead monster bellowed and raised its weapon, while the three humped things started bantering nervously.

In the split-second before they attacked, Eragon recognized them. The small ones, called Grunts and the dog-ones, called Jackels. But what was the big one? Had Spartan not showed that one with his fairth? It didn't resemble the ones with swords or shields, so what was it?

The soldier threw the explosive device with one hand and pulled his hand back like it had been burned. "Fire in the hole!"

Eragon knew from experience what those weapons could do. It had blown armoured humans to bloody chunks and destroyed large sections of stone buildings. With damage like that, how could the monsters hope to survive?

The sphere detonated with a thundering explosion and showered the area with blistering pieces of shrapnel, nearly deafening Eragon in the process. But he was safe behind his helmet, which had been patched up for this mission to the best of the UNSC's capacity.

Meester whirled around the cover before the dust could settle and hosed the Covenant with fire. Eragon immediately joined him, invigorated by the feeling of the weapon in his hands, heavy and confidence-inspiring. Their ambush had been perfectly-staged; the monsters had no chance to survive. This was what he had turned to killing for; to protect the ones he cared for. This right here was what justified the death and the pain. Fighting to protect Arya and to kill the monsters that wanted to burn his race to the ground.

But the Covenant soldiers didn't as easily as he had imagined, much to his dismay. Two of the three smaller Grunts had been blown apart by the initial explosion, covering the alley in blue gore and pieces of smoking flesh and metal, but only one Jackel had died. Its body lay at the feet of its friends, mangled and smoking.

The big one's armour had held.

Eragon cursed as he aimed at the thing and pulled at the trigger with his right index finger, discharging the weapon. It had more power to it than he had imagined and immediately after the first shot –which didn't hit anything- he nearly dropped it due to the unexpected kick against his hands. But he was used to holding a heavy sword and fighting with it, so he was able to keep a hold on it.

Meester, in the meantime, was laying down a thunderous fire with his black rifle, shredding the armour of the big golden one to pieces, revealing a body that was furrier than expected, a short, black beard and red, wild eyes. It roared and charged at them with more ferocity and speed than even a Kull could muster and behind it, the two Jackels opened fire. Bolts of green light impacted behind Eragon's cover and consequently burned half of it away.

"Fall back!" called his companion. "Move to a better position!"

Eragon didn't need to be told twice. He turned around and ran, thinking of a way to halt the big monster's momentum with magic.

_The shrapnel!_He realized, cursing himself for how stupid he was. He had forgotten about the trap he had set!

Not wasting another second, he launched the dozens of sharp, solid projectiles at the Covenant's body. Splinters, spikes, jagged rocks and pieces of glass, all of them flying at it with enough force to shred the leather armour of any Empire soldier and probably chainmail too. Without its golden armour, its body was completely left open to the attack.

And the creature wasn't fazed by it. It charged through the waves of shrapnel as if it wasn't there and swung a double-handed blow at Eragon's ribs, which he only barely managed to dodge. He could feel his blood running cold; just how tough were these things? What did it take to kill one? He couldn't risk using magic to kill it, because he didn't know how its body worked. He might accidentally kill himself in the process.

Before the creature attack again, Eragon ducked low and jumped out of the way. He fumbled with the pistol and shot it in its back, three times, before he had to avoid another attack. Only because of his enhanced agility was he able to dodge the feral attacks and he knew his luck was bound to run out soon. Fighting in a narrow alley behind abandoned houses wasn't the best idea out there. He couldn't swing his sword, because it might not even cut the Covenant soldier. If the three bullets that could have killed any human weren't going to cut it, what would?

"Brisingr!" He shouted, setting the creature alight with the spell. The explosion of blue fire and sensations of exhaustion that quickly followed in its wake would have to do. He wasn't going to stick around to see if the monster lived through being set alight.

"Move it Eragon!" Meester yelled, waiting for him at the end of the alley with his rifle raised. He couldn't risk taking a shot without hitting Eragon, but the same thing went for the Jackels behind them, who seemed to be unwilling to open fire on the big one to catch the two tasty humans.

At least the alley had that going for them. The burning creature had taken cover in one of the side-alleys, perhaps fearing another magic attack.

Eragon reached his companion within seconds of hearing him shout and turned around to open fire at the two Jackels that remained, but something massive stood in his way. Something that was smoking, trailing fire and screaming like an angry dragon. It appeared to have changed its mind about taking cover.

He swore and probed the monster's mind, hoping to cripple it with a mental invasion. He might as well have attempted to subjugate a rock to his will; the creature's blind rage was too great for him to overcome.

"What does take to _kill _that thing!" Eragon shouted as the smoking ball of hatred and death charged for them once more, raising its weapon with one hand while doing so. How was it still _alive_?

"I feel your pain!" the soldier shouted back, before several spikes the size of his forearm were shot at their direction. The projectiles slammed into the stone wall behind them with enough force to disappear halfway into the wall, searing hot like a freshly-smitten sword would. One of them had pinned Meester to the stone by his right arm –the one he aimed with- and judging by the loud swears and screams of pain, it had to have gone straight through.

He wasn't going anywhere soon.

"Goddamnit!" the soldier cried, wasting no time in raising his sidearm and shooting at the approaching foe. "Go! Find the girl!"

And neither was Eragon.

He turned around and faced the Covenant warrior as it approached them, chuckling and raising its weapon. Its body was blackened, its skin charred. It was slowed down by its wounds, but that wouldn't last long. It was bearing on them again, gaining speed. Eragon opened fire with the pistol, thinking thoroughly about his next move. His reflexes and physiology had been enhanced, but he couldn't hope to depend on that alone. The pistol felt heavy in his hands, but it didn't feel like an impossible weapon to fire. Its projectiles were small enough to risk accelerating to massive speeds and that seemed like his best bet. But the monster had proved to be pretty hard to kill with just conventional means and until he knew more about it, he wouldn't risk attacking it with magic.

But the bullets had proven ineffective in its torso and he wasn't accurate enough to hit it in the head. He needed to target its face with something larger, more effective.

Eragon reached for the spikes buried deep into the wall behind him with a burst of magic, heaving and pulling at them with all his might. The Covenant soldier had nearly reached them, was nearly upon them. He could see its finger going for a trigger-like device again and with the speed it had reached at this point, it would crush the two of them in a single, violent collision.

He grunted and felt the strain getting to him within a heartbeat. His muscles were aching, his legs were trembling and he feared that his knees would buckle if he kept this up. He couldn't get it done in time; he had made the wrong decision-

Meester screamed again and the spikes exploded outwards from the wall, lodging themselves straight into the thick skull of the enormous warrior with a gruesome cracking-sound. It uttered a single, horrible cry and its speed kept its body going, causing it to unceremoniously crash spike-face first into the ruined remains of the wall, missing the Starborn soldier's pinned body by mere inches.

A sickening sensation rose up in Eragon's throat and he had to fight to keep his supper from joining the dark blood that had been sprayed on the wall. This wasn't the cleanest way he had ever used to kill something, but the thing had it coming. Big ugly bastard…

"Shit I hate Brutes…" muttered Meester. He wasn't pinned to the wall anymore, but that spike was still driven through his arm and blood was dripping from his wrist. He was groaning and panting and he clutched his wounded arm with a bloodied glove. That would be the most important thing to work at.

_So they were called Brutes,_ Eragon thought. The name fit, in a morbid way. It had been harder to kill than a Kull thinking itself a dragon. "Are you alright?" It was a moot question, really; of course the soldier wasn't alright. But they needed to move. Those Jackels had a clear line of sight now that the 'Brute' lay dead on the floor and already, bolts of green energy impacted on the wall. Why hadn't they shot immediately after their leader had gone down? Why the hesitation?

Whatever the cause was for the lack in action, Eragon wasn't the type to hesitate himself. He grabbed the soldier by his shoulder, pulled him around the corner and yelled, "We're going!" As much as he wanted to heal Meester from his terrible wound and make sure that he would survive, the Jackels would find them and kill them if they didn't hurry. They needed to find the others and fall back, maybe then they could-

"_Ground-Units, stand by. Firing for effect. All hands, brace for impact. Repeat, all hands, brace for impact."_

Brace for impact? What impact?

Eragon found out roughly half a second later. Something massive exploded with the mightiest sound he had ever heard in his entire life. The very air rippled with the force, with the raw power behind the impact. Something tugged at his stomach and the ground shifted underneath his feet. A building rushed towards him and fell apart into little pieces before it could smash into him, though the ground underneath his feet was sturdier than that. Sturdier in the sense that, when it rose up to say hello to his face, it didn't stop halfway through and bashed him in the face.

Buildings exploded all around them, wood and rock flew around in both shrapnel as man-sized projectiles and the never-ending screaming and shooting finally ceased, if only for a few moments. Everything seemed to happen in slowness; the remains of the buildings fell to the ground in shattered pieces of debris, sturdier pieces of city simply fell apart and as Eragon crawled back upright after having lost his footing, he could see it all. The two gods –for it had to have been gods, with that size- were slowly drifting away in the dark night, disappearing in the clouds that had concealed them,

With his ears ringing worse than ever before, it appeared as if silence reigned. Around him, everything was falling apart ad he could see it all. He could see the monsters burning everyone they encountered, only briefly fazed by the mysterious explosion that had completely flattened Feinster. The civilians, scattered and without protection, were desperately trying to escape collapsing buildings and piles of debris, but they had no chance. He could see large Covenant members moving around the rubble that had once been a prosperous city, wielding heavy weapons that discharged time and time again, burning everything they hit. Men and women were shot as they attempted to even recover from the shockwaves and even children were not spared. Eragon could see two little kids, not much older than five or six, being cornered in the burning husk of what had once been their home, with the shield-bearing Jackels moving in on them.

He took a wavering step in their direction before a hand grabbed a hold of his wrist, pulling him back.

"Don't. We need to pull back."

"No!" Growled Eragon. "We need to help –there's people down there!"

"There's nothing we can do…" Meester sounded exhausted, weak. He was still walking with that horrible spike driven through his forearm and it served to remind him of the bigger picture. But they had to do something! These were people, human beings! And they were being slaughtered like cattle in a pen!

"First things first…" he beckoned for the soldier's arm. He couldn't have his friend bleeding out in the middle of a war like this. He devised a spell to remove the spike from his arm –a variation of the spell he had used to murder the Brute- and then used a significant amount of energy to heal the horrific wound. He didn't know where the Jackels had gone, or why the flying vessels had left them again, but they were currently at a moment of rest. His body hadn't eased up, but he was starting to get more input from his surroundings. He could smell the scents of burnt flesh and smoking wood, he could hear the sounds of fighting around him and he could see the impact that the Covenant had on the city. The only buildings that were not leveled were the sturdy, stone ones and those were the ones targeted by both civilians as Covenant.

"Goddamn magic and shit…" the soldier groaned loudly as Eragon extracted the spike. "Gah…fucking Covenant bastards…"

Eragon muttered a quick spell to seal the wound up and took a deep breath to dissipate the dizziness. "What now?"

The soldier gripped his wrist and gently moved it, as if checking if the tendons still worked. Which they did…probably…"Is a little stiff…you sure this works?"

He nodded. The city was a mess. Burning buildings, monsters butchering fleeing civilians and without any support, there was a big chance that they would all die. With that in mind, there was only one thing they could do. "Yes. So how do we find Arya? Will the Covenant notice mental probes?"

Meester slowly slid down against the ruined remains of a wall. "I don't think so…could you locate her mentally?"

Again, he nodded. He could hear so much more with his enhanced hearing than normal humans could and he found it exceedingly hard to ignore the sounds of death and violence around him. The high-pitched dabbling of a few Grunts grew too loud for comfort and he ducked down as well. Was this what the war had been for the UNSC? Hiding in ruined cities, picking off the enemy as they approached? How could they possibly defend themselves when their enemy could literary fall from the sky?

Overhead, he could feel Saphira approaching the city, her mind set to kill. Support would be nice, but they could easily shoot her out of the sky.

'_Saphira, stay away!'_ he told her. '_It is too dangerous!'_

'_The sky is spitting out monsters and you want me to leave? No. I refuse.'_

Alarm gripped him when he heard her stubborn tone. '_But it won't make a difference! They are too dangerous! Keep distance!'_

'_I am a dragon. They cannot do magic and I refuse to back down when faced with stinking creatures such as them.'_

'_Then…at least stick to hit and run attacks. Keep moving and they won't be able to track you.'_

Through their link, he could feel her irritation. '_That was my plan, yes.'_

At least those Covenant bastards had something to watch out for. He had yet to see something that could beat a mature dragon in combat –and he doubted even their armour could resist a sustained burst of fire.

Eragon didn't know where Aeraleth was, but Saphira would have to work on her own for a while. He sent a mental probe around, careful as to not give away their position, and found an unmistakably-elfish mind to their rear, roughly fifty meters away.

Then, the screaming intensified. It didn't sound like the echoes of terrified civilians though; these were the cries of men attempting to intimate their enemies. Was it Feinster's army? Had they finally arrived? It was about time! Between then, the UNSC forces and the two dragons, they might just get out of there in one piece!

Eagon risked a look and stuck his head out, trying to determine where the sounds came from. A group of twenty to thirty men charged around the corners of a still-standing tower, raising their shields and weapons and bellowing with a mighty war-cry. Their targets, three Brutes and a few Grunts, stood fast and raised their weapons in return, some of them chuckling at the opportunity to slaughter more humans.

He wanted to shout and warn the soldiers to get away, but he couldn't. It was too late now –and giving away his position would only serve to get him and Meester killed. He needed to sit this one out.

Both groups of soldiers opened fire with their ranged weapons. Arrows, bolts of fire and spikes crossed each other in the air and found their targets within seconds. The simple arrows bounced off of the shimmery armour of the Brutes –with one stray projectile finding home in the arm of one Grunt- leaving virtually no damage whatsoever. Only the small monster bled shiny, blue blood that fell to the ground in thick patches and judging by its frantic cries, it just got more aggressive because of it.

Their weaponry, meanwhile, caused horrific casualties with the human soldiers. The spikes ran straight through them, slicing through the metal like it wasn't there. Some soldiers were pinned to the floor or to adjacent walls, others simply fell as the searing blades stopped them with sheer pain and penetrative damage alone. One Brute had a blue rifle, which it used to simply burn through the chain-mail like so many rows of wet paper. The rest of the soldiers fell due to the green blasts, which burned through rock and metal alike.

Within seconds, only half of the soldiers were left. Still they charged though, and the Covenant weapons were nowhere near as fast as the UNSC ones. In the few seconds they needed to get close to the group of invaders, Feinter's soldiers only suffered a few more casualties before clashing with the group of Covenant, seven of their original group remaining.

And that was where Eragon averted his gaze and pulled Meester to his feet. He hated to admit it, but he needed a distraction and this would be the closest he'd come across. Arya was close by and he wasn't going to lose her.

The Starborn soldier nodded and gripped his arm as he looked around, perhaps agreeing with the choice to remain hidden. His arm was still singed and burned and Eragon doubted healing it would do the ruined nerves any good. Healing magic was really useful with flesh wounds and even broken bones, but the wounds that these Covenant weapons caused were just…it was like those spike-guns were designed with pain in mind, not death. Super-heated metal spikes? Who came up with something like that?

Together, they abandoned their ruined piece of cover and made their way towards what had once been a large house, higher up in the city. He had felt Arya's mind somewhere there, in distress and under pressure. There were a few Covenant patrols in their way, most of which existed out of the little Grunts led by a single Brute. Eragon quickly found that the Grunts were easy to kill; not only were they about a head shorter than he was, Meester had also told him that they "breathed" something called "methane". Now Eragon didn't know what methane was, or how something could breathe it, but he did subsequently use that information to magically tear off their masks, which somehow enabled them to breathe.

The first time he did so resulted in a scene that was both nasty as it was fascinating. The diminutive creature was literally incapable of living without that strange mask; the moment Eragon reached out with his magic and pulled its mask off, it started tearing at its throat and flopping around like a fish stuck on the dry. Because of the nature of his attack, the Brutes had been left dumbfounded by the fate of their smaller companions. And he didn't want to risk revealing his position to those mountains, because he still had no idea how they even worked. He had read scrolls on basic functions of the body, but these things were completely new to him.

A least the Covenant soldiers were distracted as Eragon pushed towards the ruined building. The last thing he saw their particular group do, involved the Brutes beating the choking Grunts to death with their bare hands.

_Even their own members aren't safe,_ Eragon thought. He knew he should have felt guilty for the brutal way of killing those Grunts, but all he could think of was the hundreds of innocent civilians that had been butchered by the Covenant. And that was more than enough to justify the most brutal methods of killing and war he could think of.

Even though they were in no way safe, the building offered at least some form of shelter. Eragon and Meester took a few moments to catch their breaths, before the Starborn opted to check their inventory. The weapons they had left weren't capable of turning the tide of this fight though; one rifle, one pistol and two grenades. Not exactly an army's arsenal.

"You take that rifle," the soldier said, much to Eragon's surprise.

"What?"

"Take it. You'll do more good with it."

Eragon shook his head. This was too much now; he couldn't even fire one pistol straight, let alone the bulky Assault weapon. This had to be some mistake. "Look, I don't know how it works. Why don't you take it?"

Meester chuckled and raised his right hand, which had been skewered by the Brute projectile. "I can't move my hand. Baby Kong messed it up."

"But…" Eragon muttered. "I fixed it. You should at least be capable of pulling the trigger, right?"

"You can't fix a Spiker-injury a hundred percent, Eragon. The nerves, right? They've been burnt out by the spike. You can't fix what's not there anymore."

"I…" it dawned upon Eragon that he might have worsened an already terrible injury by attempting to heal it. Oromis had told him that missing tissues and organs were exceedingly hard to replace, but he had never thought this war would actually have him attempting that. "Why didn't you tell me that before! We could have done something to save your hand!"

But the soldier didn't seem to be all that fazed by the aspect of a useless limb. "Either that, or bleeding to death. Don't worry; once we'll get back to the Duty, we'll fix it."

Shaking his head, Eragon said, "I can still do something. Just…let me help, alright?"

Meester peered out the remainders of a window, before sitting down and pulling his helmet off, revealing his old and wrinkled face. He could have been someone's father, or even grandfather. "You are helping. I'll try to contact our allies. You just find your friend, alright? You'll need her to keep the marines safe."

For a brief moment, Eragon wondered of Richard Meester had a wife or children back on the planet he came from. But he pushed that thought away almost immediately; it wasn't as if the soldier would die. He was just going to take a breather and keep his head down for the fight.

Without further questioning the Starborn's intent, he picked up the large rifle and nodded. He hated having to do so, but choosing between Arya and Richard…he would pick Arya. And he hated _himself _for himself involved with those sort of choices. The Human-Covenant war…if one relatively minor invasion could cause him so much distress, how much would it have caused for the average civilian on other worlds? When all they ever knew came crashing down around them?

"Take this Frag. You see a situation you can't kill your way out of, you pull the pin, throw it and get your ass to cover. Got that?"

He could only sheepishly nod.

"Now you come bring that rifle back when you are done. A soldier likes his gun."

Eragon nodded and considered weaving a ward for Meester. But he couldn't; he didn't know the properties of these monstrous weapons and if he got out of range, the strain would most certainly kill him. "Once we get out of here, you can tell me all about the things soldiers like."

The Starborn smiled. It made him look even older. "Amen to that."

He had no idea what amen meant, but Eragon did know that it would not matter. He _hated _the Covenant for what they forced him to do and after all of this was over, after Galbatorix was gone, he would help the UNSC to drive the monsters out. Burn them all.

* * *

The Covenant signals were only a few dozen miles ahead, easily within fighting distance. The bastards were getting close to the surface for a reason, but whatever it was, Captain Wren was glad to take it away from them. He could enter Slipspace now and lead the Covenant away, but doing so would cause serious damage to the surface below them. They were grounded and on the wrong side of too much firepower and too many guns. It was a given rule that the UNSC only beat the Covenant forces when outnumbering them three-to-one, which was as certain as the given rule that they would also lose two-thirds of their forces while fighting. These odds? They weren't very good.

Still, the crew of the _When Duty Ends _knew what to do. Their initial shot had gotten the Covvies' attention and now all they needed to do was lure them away from Alagaesia. Losing this particular engagement would mean losing the planet and that was something no 'one on the ship would accept.

"Come to heading zero four zero, declination three three seven," Wren ordered. "Fire engines up to one-hundred and fifty percent and arm Archer missile pods A through D. Give me a firing solution."

Archer missiles were the mainstay ship-to-ship missiles carried by Destroyers. They were fully capable of tearing Insurrectionist and UNSC ships to small pieces, though they were ineffective against Covenant ships. That was because of two, frustratingly simple reasons. First of all, their point-defense lasers would nail half of the missiles that were fired off and the remaining half would merely detonate on the shields, doing about as much damage as a snowball. The _When Duty Ends _had twenty-six of those pods, each carrying about forty missiles.

If only they had been outfitted with an AI. They could still fire weapons and travel through Slipspace without one, but it would take much longer to make calculations.

"Aye," the navigation and weapon officers said. "Pods A through D armed." They continued ticking away at their keypads as the Destroyer lurched upwards, heading towards the dark sky above. For some reason, the Covenant ships hadn't opened fire when they still had the element of surprise. That suggested they wanted something on the surface of Alagaeisa and whatever it was, it was important enough for them to change their tactics. "Firing solution ready. Ship reaching critical speed."

"Fire, and sound the collision-alarm." The most important thing for now was to lure the two ships away, so that the units on the ground could be bought valuable time. Once the Covenant got Wraiths and Scarabs going, they were all cooked. Wren wanted to believe that the Spartan would win the ground-engagements, he really did, but he knew it would not be that simple. ONI was experiencing a power-struggle and Parangosky had dialed back on her decision to make the Secret-Spartans her personal pets. Their tendency to fall into animalistic rage had made them…too much of a bother, in her eyes. He didn't even know a third of the story, but most of the spooks under her control had turned against the SS-II's. A few of them were even onboard their ship, doing whatever they could to eliminate the Spartan. Sabotaging equipment, anti-psychosis drugs and spare MJOLNIR part, nothing was below them. His own counter-measures had to be subtle and seemingly-insignificant, lest he betray his opposition to Parangosky, who would act on her position as the supreme queen of ONI and "disappear" him as well.

"Firing pods A through D."

One hundred fifty missiles launched from the ports of their ship. One hundred fifty plumes of rocket exhaust that traced a path to the Covenant vessels, ninety of which would be shot out of the sky before impact. Ninety rockets with the destructive capacity to curb any UNSC frigate with one impact and it would only annoy the enemy for a few moments. Ordnance to time, time to lives. In the decades that had passed since the first engagement of the war, the Archers had been dramatically increased. More effective payloads, longer timers and better tracking software all tucked away in a deadly package. It wouldn't change a thing.

Wren had partaken in many battles before. When he had turned twenty-one, he had been one of the highest-ranking officers aboard a Frigate called _Falling Wood_. He had spent half a decade alternating between taking the fight to rebel outposts and reinforcing planets under siege, before he had been relocated to permanent Covenant-duty. After that, it had only taken Fleetcom a few more years to promote him to Commander and stick him aboard a Destroyer-Class vessel.

And then ONI had taken an interest in him. Few Officers had survived half a dozen naval engagements with the Covenant and even fewer had seen the full horrors that the Insurrectionists were capable of.

If only he knew what it had meant at the time. "Get us up there ASAP. Course correction one-eighty and five." Even though the screen showed the mostly ineffective impacts on the enemy Destroyer, he had more important things to worry about. Gabled transmissions were coming in from the surface, all of them warning about an invasion force. He couldn't answer all of them, but he could tell his troops what todo.

"Enemy pulse lasers!" cried one of the ensigns. The Covenant's retaliation had been slower than normal, but ever so effective. Purple flashes flickered along the hull of the sleek Destroyer, which was leading in front of the Frigate. They were so intense that they hurt Wren's eyes, even though the screen weakened their intensity many times over.

The outer hull of the _When Duty Ends _popped and hissed as the lasers tore away at their dense Titanium armour. A few screens went blank with statics, though at least two of them went back to normal within seconds. EM-shielding and additional heat-deflective plating made for excellent protection against enemy pulse lasers, but they were still lethal when used in large amounts.

"Armour in sections two and four at fifty percent!" the lieutenant at Ops station yelled. "Enemy is charging up plasma torpedoes!"

There were times that a recently-repaired scanner wasn't that useful. "Reroute all power to the engines and circumvent security measures. Hold on to your seats people." The last few years, humanity had made multiple breakthroughs with regard to engines and Slipspace navigation. Their ships could reach speeds in half the time their predecessors could.

The Destroyer broke through the clouds and surged towards the stars at speeds that would soon leave the crew bleeding out of their ears if not corrected. But as the apparent caution to not damage anything holy did not extent to the _When Duty Ends,_ they had to outrun the several plasma torpedoes on their ass. Turning your back to the enemy only gave them an advantage, but they needed room and time right now.

Wren clasped his hands behind his back as multiple tremors ran through the ship. The reactors could propel them to great speeds in half a minute, but the strain on the ship was great. There were so many ways in which the vessel could be destroyed.

"Reaching critical heat in twenty."

"Prepare to dump heat and decrease to one hundred twenty percent."

"Plasma torpedoes confirmed! Impact in ETA ten seconds."

"Keep on course."

Nobody second-guessed him. The Captain didn't know if that was because of fear or loyalty, but it didn't matter. Upgraded armour or not, the _When Duty Ends _would be a free-floating piece of junk if that plasma hit them. Because they were still in atmosphere, controls were wonky. But so was enemy fire, which was based o magnetism. Judging by their slow decisions and crude tactics, they had to be Brutes. He could deal with Brutes if they controlled starships.

"Impact in five." The strain in the crewmember's voice was audible. "Four…three…two…contact with torpedoes gone, sir."

Despite their situation, Wren allowed himself a smirk. Covenant plasma torpedoes didn't function properly when fired from space through atmosphere; the magnetic field of some planets messed with their guidance systems. It appeared that the same went for atmosphere to space. But that left them with a great big new problem; the playing field would be infinitely greater, allowing for a position wherein the enemy could field their two ships with much greater efficiency.

And they had been lucky to escape the first enemy salvo already.

"Ready a heavy MAC," Captain Wren said.

"Aye aye," the weapons officer said. "Charge at seventy percent sir."

"Target the Destroyer."

The enemy ships needed at least two MAC's to take out their shielding. One of them had impacted on the Covenant Destroyer, leaving another three shots required to even start damaging them.

They didn't have the time to fire three more rounds.

Their ship was slower than the enemy's, their weapons were less powerful and they lacked the personal for the more advanced maneuvers. The enemy could simply jump to intercept them at any moment, even within atmosphere. Their only saving grace was the fact that they had dumped a whole lot of ordnance and vehicles on the surface of the planet while taking evasie maneuvers. Tanks, warthogs and many resupply pods. All that was needed was for the leaders on Alagaesia to unite them into a functioning army.

Once more, Wren was forced to confide his trust into the field commanders on the ground. Ajihad, Islanzadí and Hrothgar. Half their marines were on the field, though dozens of ODST's still remained onboard of the _When Duty Ends._ Perhaps they could dump those in the hours to come, provided they lasted that long.

"Ninety-five…one-hundred. MAC ready-"

"Fire!"

The lights onboard dimmed as the ship shuddered, sending a shimmering bolt of fire and lightning through the blackness of space. They had only put a few hundred kilometers between themselves and the Covenant ships and already, they were making ready for another shot. There was a small moon, roughly as far away from the planet as Luna was from Earth. If they could get to it, they could slingshot around.

"Sir, receiving groundside transmission!"

The fight on the ground was the least of their worries now. There were thousands of Covenant warriors invading Alagaesia, but there were also thousands of native creatures ready to fight them. Elves with magic, dwarves with axes and even urgals with…big sticks. All of them led by one Spartan that desperately needed his meds, but could not get to his meds until every possible vector of harm was isolated.

"Enemy ships pursueing."

Yes. They could not get away without taking at least one plasma bolt to the stern.

"MAC recharging sir, thirty percent."

And their firepower was limited when they were running away from an engagement. They were outfitted with four Shiva nuclear warheads, which were reserved for desperate maneuvers only.

"I got a Sergeant Wallcroft. He's saying the Covenant forces are landing at coast cities, slaughtering civilians in a random pattern. Other dropships are pushing land inwards, heading to the forests."

The forests of Du Weldenvarden, where the Forerunner relics were supposed to be. Of course. How did the Covenant even know where to go? How had they found this place? More importantly, why were they still hunting for relics if the three high prophets had been killed? They needed more pieces to solve this puzzle.

"Enemy has tanks on the ground."

Captain Wren sighed and reviewed his options. Nukes, missiles and MACs. He might as well have been shooting arrows using a bow made out of stone for all the good he did.

* * *

Arya screamed and jabbed at the closest Covenant soldier with her sword, which bounced off of its green shield and jarred her arm considerably. The creature stumbled backwards underneath her blow and foolishly exposed its midsection, the shield-bearing arm battered aside by the powerful strike. It provided her with an opening she eagerly took, stabbing the ferocious creature and catching it in its throat-region, which wasn't protected by that strange body-armour. These monsters were only lightly armoured and they looked like they could be killed by blunt-force-trauma, but she wasn't willing to risk that. The Covenant was extremely unpredictable and for all she knew, their suits protected them from even magic.

The "Jackel" uttered a terrible, garbled scream when Arya pulled her sword back. Purple blood erupted from the ruined throat and a single kick to the chest was enough to down the creature for good. But the brief moment of bursting from her cover and murdering the Covenant soldier was enough for the rest of the group to open fire as well and she was forced to duck back behind the brick wall. These damnable creatures traveled in groups; five of the shielded, avian-like ones had been tearing a group of civilians apart and even though she had been supposed to follow the remaining "Marine" to the edge of the city, she could not have ignored it.

Bolts of green and purple fire impacted on Arya's cover and burned through it like it was made out of dry twigs. She could feel the heat even through her advanced suit and she was forced to retreat to a completely different piece. The ground was littered with the mangled bodies of the dead; the civilians who had attempted to run from the Covenant terror, those that had been captured and those that had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She could still see their eyes –judging her, begging for the help that would have come far too late. Hundreds of souls extinguished in one night of fire.

And the worst thing of all? She had to _ignore _them. She had to banish the fallen and the dead out of her mind if she wanted to survive. She had to give up on the most basic need and form of dignity in order to survive. Kill her mercy, cancel her thoughts and focus on fighting.

These Covenant soldiers were protected extraordinarily well, but they were still weak to magic. While Arya did not possess the knowledge of their basic biology that she would need to slaughter them with well-placed spells, she could still kill them with fire and projectiles and the like. The little "Grunt" ones were the easiest to kill, by far. They had little to no protection at all and their tactics were weak at best.

But…there were so _many _of them. She had only just managed to kill one Jackel and the rest had already dialed in on her location to murder her. He only reason she had managed to kill the alien creature was because Spartan had told her and her kin about them. The ones with the shields, the ones with the backpacks and the ones with the swords. Only the larger creatures that led these Covenant soldiers did not remotely resemble the "Elites" that Spartan had described; they were larger and more thuggish than urgals, better armoured than some engines of war and pretty much as demonic as the Starborn Rider himself. As large as Kull, wielding fearsome weapons and shimmering armour…monsters, every last one of them.

Arya suppressed the desire to scream as another deadly projectile sailed over her head. Instead, she called upon the Ancient Language and lashed out at another Jackel, snapping its neck as easily as stepping on a dry piece of wood. They were so frail, but so deadly. Their weapon could kill with a single hit and nothing her wards could do could possibly stop them. All she could do was keep her head down and pray that nothing hit her.

Whatever remained of the barracks when the city had exploded, seemed to be sturdy enough to shelter her and various additional human soldiers that had survived. Arya had discovered them when she had been fleeing from one of the rampaging groups of Covenant soldiers, after she and her human companions had been ambushed. The resulting firefight had killed one such Marine, while the other had been quick to determine where to fall back to. But this place was not the salvation they had thought it to be.

"Get back," she shouted, forcing several Imperial soldiers back to their cover when they had been growing bold. No sooner had she spoken, or several bolts of magic fire flashed from the hallway, impacting in the stone wall and boiling straight through. They had forged a temporary truce, in which the soldiers from Feinster would support them with their bows, while she and the Marine –Sergeant Crane, as he called himself- attempted to hold the invading Covenant forces off.

But Feinster's soldiers didn't last long. They had started out with thirteen well-armed men, but after only a few minutes of fighting this brutal entrenched conflict, only seven of them remained. The barracks were filled with large, gaping holes and nooks for the enemy to shoot through and at least three hallways had been cleared and opened up by the Covenant soldiers to take a direct approach. One soldier had been struck by a volley of glimmering, pink projectiles, which had then proceeded to violently explode and blow him apart. Arya had grunted as pink pieces of shrapnel struck her wards, draining then heavier than any stray arrow would have done. But they had held, which was key to her survival.

"To the left!" Crane shouted and aimed his weapon, which was basically a long, black tube that fired single, powerful shots instead of a stream of metal projectiles. The weapon discharged with the force of thunder and struck one of the creatures he referred to as "Brutes" in the face. Whatever munitions he used, they were only effective in shredding the armour around the alien's head and collapsing the region around his chest. It was less effective in killing the monstrosity, as it bellowed and charged at them head-on, firing an impressive-looking weapon with only one hand. Judging by a pained scream behind them, they found their marks in yet another brave soldier trying their best to defend their homes and loved ones against an onslaught beyond their darkest nightmares.

"Jierda!" Arya cried, using her internal flow of magic to lash out at the creature's legs. In the split-second it took for her powers to take hold of their target, she could feel her energy draining away and her knees trembling. Then, the Brute's legs broke with the sound of Crane's weapon discharging. But instead of falling, the alien merely tripped and kept going, much to Arya's horror.

"No," she whispered.

But the Marine was probably used to the sight of lumbering monstrosities walking on broken legs, as he side-stepped the Brute and bashed the backside of his weapon against its skull. The blow only managed to temporarily stun the creature, but that was all he needed. He pulled the trigger again and half the alien's head exploded into bloody chunks, which sprayed the wall with blue-red blood.

Crane watched the corpse of the alien skid across the ground with its remaining momentum and then looked at Arya. He had a young face, somewhat unshaven and still unscarred. His eyes were determined and the helmet on his head casted a dark shade over his features. Arya expected him to make some comment, or give her some sort of nod, but nothing like that happened. Instead, he made a strange movement with his weapon, ejecting a strange, red item.

And then more enemy fire rained down on their location, and the remaining warriors were forced to hurry for better cover. One of the Imperial soldiers had been struck by the spikes, which had left a pungent, burning scent in the barracks. Three such crude projectiles protruded from his chest, which was only shallowly rising and falling. Unsteadily, wavering.

The man grunted softly and Arya gently pulled him back towards the collection of tables and beds that the soldiers had used to create some cover for themselves. His comrades watched her with a variety of expressions, some of them judging and some of them solemn. None of them hopeful.

Were they blaming the Varden for this? The elves? Did they know that city of thousands had little hope for survival?

"Covvies on our six," Sergeant Crane barked, before rushing over to the hallway and taking aim with his Assault rifle. He had a different accent, one that the elf had not heard before. He pronounced his "A's" rather strangely. "Arya, gimme a hand!"

"Grab his bow," she ordered one of the Empire men, pointing to the fallen soldier. "Keep that entryway suppressed!"

After a brief moment's hesitation, the older man started yelling orders at his comrades, who immediately jumped at his voice. Arya winced at the sudden increase of volume and then shook her head. Crane had been raising two kinds of havoc with his weapons already, deafening her with every shot he fired. Her ears were still ringing and sounds were oddly muffled, but a simple spell had served to somewhat muffle the painful explosions that the weapons caused.

The six remaining soldiers organized themselves around the door that led to the second entry into the barracks; two stood at the sides, with raised swords, while the other four nocked arrows and took aim at the dark hallway, where Covenant soldiers with shimmering and pulsating suits were advancing on their position.

Arya had little hope that the arrows would do anything useful. But they had to do_ something _to fight these monsters and she would do whatever it took to hurt them. Her magic could kill them, albeit at a high cost. She had attempted to break the neck of a Brute before, but it had taken her ungodly amounts of energy to do so, leading her to conclude that they had reinforced bones. She needed to know more about them if she were to kill them with magic, because she couldn't risk wasting more energy. She only had precious little left.

"We got Jackels in the hallway!" Crane yelled. "Overlapping shields, advancing slowly. Arya, grab that shield from the dead one's wrist."

The elf nodded and quickly moved to the fallen body of the single Jackel that had been too curious to what waited for it around the door. There was a sickle-shaped weapon on one side, and a strange cylinder-shaped item on its wrist. That was where the shield had come from, so could she-?

"There's two buttons, one activates the shield."

She hacked the arm off of the Jackel's body and grabbed the shield-device. Her arm was about as slender as the alien's, so it ought to fit her.

Arya slid the item around her own wrist and shook her arm. It moved up and down a lot, but she could keep a hold on it. Next, she pressed the round button on the left. The device hummed and vibrated and, after a few nervous seconds, generated that same colourful shield.

"Draw their fire!" Crane said and started gesturing at the Imperial soldiers. "You lot, take cover! Now!"

There wasn't more time. Two Jackels ran through the opening of the door and turned to face Arya, raising their claw-like weapons without hesitation.

Arya for her part resisted the urge to use magic again. The shimmering shields fully protected the Jackels from the front, so any attack would most likely be too risky. Behind them, Crane took aim as well.

The aliens opened fire at the same time the Sergeant did. Their green fire collided with the shield in her arms and she could feel the heat crackling the air, dissipating at the sides of the round shield. The attacks were completely absorbed, but she was forced to kneel and tuck her head away behind the shield to protect herself.

Purple blood splattered on the insides of the alien shields when Crane riddled them with bullets, punching several clean holes through their chests, which erupted as the rounds tore through them. The aliens screamed and fell to the ground, one last bolt of fire erupting from the barrel of the weapon and burning a hole clean through the ceiling.

Arya discarded the shield, which was on the verge of collapsing, and picked up one of the alien guns. It felt surprisingly heavy, and the metal felt…odd. As if it was alive.

The Starborn soldier stepped closer to the hallway again and opened fire with his rifle, firing in short bursts which Arya knew were meant to keep the enemy at bay.

The elf fumbled with the gun in her hands, trying to find the trigger on it. The Imperial soldiers were taking fire as well and one of them screamed his last when he took a round to the face. Two of his comrades hauled him away while the rest opened fire with their bow and arrows, probably doing no damage whatsoever.

The weapon discharged and Sergeant Crane found himself dancing backwards with surprising agility for a human.

"Bloody hell!" he cried. "Bugger off with that piece!"

Arya mouthed a quick apology. It had not been her intention to roast the man's feet with an unexpected burst of fire, but at least she had found the trigger on the gun. "I think I can make this work."

An Imperial soldier shouted and slashed at a small alien Grunt, which had come walking through the door like nobody's business. The creature had been taking shots at the men wielding bows and as such, it did not see the swords coming until they were buried deep inside of its body. A few arrows stuck out of its torso, but they didn't seem to have bothered it at all.

Arya aimed the weapon again, this time going for her own hallway. More Grunts were approaching and they were all filing after each other, taking shots at their location and boiling away from cover. She took a deep breath and placed her thumb on the red light in the middle of the screen, before…nothing happened. The trigger was soft and the weapon appeared to dump a massive amount of energy at the tip of the claw, but nothing happened. Why-

The subsequent discharge nearly sprained her wrist. A massive bolt of green energy erupted from the tip of the weapon, singed her fingers and sore through the sky towards the nearest Grunt. It happened so fast that Arya barely had the time to close her eyes before the bolt burned through the alien's body with in one go, causing the strange hump on its back to erupt in a violent explosion, taking the entire hallway with it.

She muttered a quick spell to heal the burns on her hands –which weren't even that noticeable- and turned around to see if the soldiers had gotten hurt from that last salvo. She didn't know why, but she felt more sympathy for these humans than ever before in her life. She wanted them to _win _against the Covenant and beat the monsters back.

Crane meanwhile went busy covering the doorway he had hastily vacated during Arya's little experiment, before he uttered a loud curse and switched back to the other weapon. That spelled little good.

"We got a problem," he yelled.

"I know," Arya shouted back, grabbing a curious Grunt by the head and breaking its neck. The creature was surprisingly heavy, but not very smart. They were easier to kill than humans, at the very least. "There's at least ten of the little ones coming this way!"

"And I got a big one coming this way! Hammer!" he screamed that last part as he unslung his weapon and fired blindly into the dark hallway, aiming for some horror that Arya could not see. She had no idea what "Hammer" meant, but it couldn't be very good. "Arya, blow that wall!"

"Which wall?" she cried.

"PICK ONE!"

She cursed a string of dwarf-cusses under her breath and focused the last remnants of her useful energy. There was just enough to obliterate the rock wall, but it would leave her dangerously overexerted.

Another soldier got struck by a series of pink arrows. Three sank halfway into his chest and exploded, but not with the same force as before. But in the same way that a bird shot with an arrow instead of a catapult was still a dead bird, the Imperial soldier still screamed as his torso came apart. Arya felt a shiver run down her spine and her supper rising up through her throat with a burning taste, but she still managed to find the words she needed to demolish the wall. The loss of energy was greater than she had initially thought; her limbs grew heavy and cold and her knees started buckling. Through her blurred eyes, she could see Sergeant Crane rushing towards her and pulling her with him by her arms, through the hole she had created.

Normally, she would have very upset over the idea of a human touching her. Now, she could only grunt in protest as she was unceremoniously pulled off her feet and forced into a dark alley. And through that weak state in which events took place without her fully realizing that they were, she saw what they were running from. She saw a creature that did not belong on this world, even more so than Spartan. Worse than any of the other aliens. It was tall, broad and _menacing. _It's spiked, red armour left an imprint on her mind that she knew would haunt her for months, perhaps years. It oozed malignant intent, the way it carried the massive, pulsating hammer with little difficulty. It looked like a dragon given human form, with horns and protrusions and…and armour that made Spartan look pitiful and weak.

And she felt terror. She felt true, painfully obvious terror at the sight of this creature that would possess the strength to kill even a mighty dragon. The hammer it wielded was massive, larger than a human or even an elf was all. Two soldiers rose up to meet it in combat, and the large creature _crushed _them. It did not even use its hammer with the first one; the creature merely smashed its arm into the first soldier, breaking his high-quality sword in half like a piece of wood and destroying his chest-cavity with a single, might punch. The soldier couldn't even scream properly as every single bone in his chest shattered to pieces, caved in under the useless chainmail. He fell to the ground and the monster stomped on his head, the results of which Arya could thankfully not see. The second soldier barely got the time to react to the death of his comrade before the Covenant juggernaut smashed his hammer into his body, releasing a shockwave that blew every single window in the radius of a dozen meters and turned the poor soul into little more than a puddle of blood and bones.

And Arya screamed. She screamed because of her terror, because of the gruesome deaths of humans she had come to admire, because of the unfair and horrifying nature of this utterly-useless war. Crane screamed as well, firing his rifle on full-automatic, which had no effect. The armour of the creature soaked up the bullets that had turned urgals into dead meat and the devil noticed them, uttering a low and rumbling chuckle befitting of Saphira.

It stepped towards them.

"Eragon!" She cried. He had _promised _her! He had promised to stay by her side and keep her safe, to prevent anything like Durza from ever happening again!

Following her cry, a dark figure appeared on the roof of an adjacent building. At first Arya thought it was Spartan, heeding the call of his ancient enemies. But it wasn't Spartan. The figure jumped off the building and landed on top of the hammer-wielding demon, brandishing a curved sword with a thin edge. He held the blade like it was an insignificant dagger, a dagger he used to repeatedly stab at the colossal foe in quick succession, slicing away at the thick, grey hide that served to protect its throat. Tougher than plating, as sturdy as dragon scales.

The monster roared and clawed at the dark-clad figure with its clawed hands, but whoever it was that was foolishly trying to hurt it, he didn't allow himself to be caught. He jumped off just as the massive hands reached for his helmet and landed on the ground, where he rolled to a standstill before lunging again.

"Wallcroft!" Sergeant Crane shouted. "Get the hell away! Let the Spartan handle this!"

But it wasn't Wallcroft. Arya knew that, as certain as she knew that Alagaesia was done for. Those limber movements…those selfless, elegant jumps…it wasn't any Starborn soldier. For all their discipline and skills, they could not match the elegancy of a Rider fighting to protect those he loved.

Eragon made another beeline for the Covenant warrior, moving in zig-zag patterns to throw it off its attacks. It did not work that well; the creature slammed his hammer into the ground again and pulverized half a house with the resulting attack. But the smaller, limber Rider managed to jump at the same time as the hated foe struck, evading the shockwaves and ending up behind it again. There, he pocketed a small, spherical item.

And Crane finished reloading a heartbeat later. At the same time he started firing at the massive demon, something even more massive swept down from the skies and landed further ahead, glimmering with blue scales and white teeth.

In a moment of masterful teamwork, the hammer-wielding creature was distracted. It bellowed a challenge for the blue dragon that had landed a few meters away from him, a challenge which she answered in kind. Arya did not know which roar was more intimidating, but she knew it did not matter.

Eragon struck once more. He threw the spherical item at the Covenant demon at the same time Saphira unleahsed a torrent of flames, which engulfed it within seconds.

An explosion went off and the dark figure that had interfered just in time approached Arya this time, grabbing her wrist much gentler than Crane had.

"Come on," he said. "We're leaving Feinster."


	31. Brimstone pt III

Queen Islanzadí stood in the guard-house, watching the enchanted mirror with a mixture of revulsion and fear. When the summit had been finished and she had been transported back to her beloved forest, she had personally seen to the placement of scrying-mirrors all around the northern points of Alagaesia, so that she could keep an eye on all that transpired.

It had proven to be a wise decision.

Warriors on the edge of the forest had reported an army advancing on their position; one that did not belong to the King or to the UNSC. They were bearing on Du Weldenwarden like a horde of locusts, burning every settlement in their way, be it a human or a tentative elven one. Her scouts had not spotted the two massive crafts descending from the heavens until they had poured hundreds of troops towards the surface of the land. Now, the bold foe was already pressing on their borders. The rare individuals of her kin who had attempted to make a living beyond the reaches of the forest had ceased calling in. Islanzadí did not need to know what had happened to them.

"My queen," Lord Däthedr said, "these creatures do not stop. Magic did not dwindle their numbers, their minds have not proven to be susceptible to probes and their weapons put us at a disadvantage at every range we can think of. Our groups near Isenstar Lake… are being forced back as we speak."

"Marshall our forces and have the front-line fighters fall back towards Osilon. Däthedr, what is our situation?"

The lord shifted his weight from his left foot to the right. A nervous gesture, one that did not fit with him. What was he hiding?

"Däthedr?"

"Ceunon is gone, my queen."

Islanzadí felt a shiver run down her back. "What do you mean? There were a thousand civilians there when we conquered the city. How did these creatures get there as well as to the lake?"

"I know not how they do this. But I know they shall not set foot into our forest."

"Good. As soon as we have repelled their forces, we shall retake Ceunon and find a way to strike back. We-"

"Islanzadí, there is no more Ceunon. When I said it was gone…I was not speaking in metaphors."

The queen of the elves bowed her head and, despite not believing in a being of higher power, prayed for the souls of the departed. "What happened?"

"There is nigh but a burning crater where the city once stood. Lifaen reported strange, bipedal creatures and a light that struck down from the skies itself. A light so bright that it blinded Nari and Vanir when they saw it. The three of them are coming towards Osilon, but they lost contact with the other groups."

Islanzadí clenched her fists. How she longed to be out there, opposing this dreadful foe. Even Galbatorix had never been as cruel as to destroy an entire city, much less in one single evening. How? And why? Who were these creatures of destruction and why hadn't the Starborn soldiers fought back yet? Where was the Captain with his mighty ship? The UNSC had not been shy with their might and prowess. Where were the battles, the wars? What was going in on Alagaesia? "What do they want? Can they be negotiated with?"

"We know nothing about that. No sooner had I breached the King's spells of scrying from Ellesmera, or we had our network. We should have been capable of seeing all that transpires…yet that is not the case."

"We have our spellweavers settled out from here towards the Spine. If they are not communicating their information to us anymore…"

"It means that this horde is approaching us faster than any foe has done in the past centuries," Däthedr finished her sentence. "And they are killing off our powerful spellweaver as they do."

"Brave souls, every last one of them. They shall not be forgotten." The queen could feel her voice trembling. In all these years, nothing had caused her so much distress as these past few weeks. First her daughter had been missing, presumed dead, before she suddenly showed up with two brand new Dragon Riders. Then she had learned about humanity having touched the stars, gaining knowledge and power beyond her believes. And now this…this ancient foe that had followed mankind from the stars…this had to be the Covenant.

"Send word to our capital Tell them to study Spartan's fairth and do it at once. If this is the collection of races that was so eager to destroy mankind, we will need all the information and courage we can muster." She did not want to think about what would happen if this Covenant focused their full attention to Du Weldenvarden. In the past, not even the Forsworn had been capable of penetrating the deepest layer of the forest.

But the Covenant was not the Forsworn. Even though Spartan must have been greatly over-exaggerating the destructive capabilities of the alien races, they were still proving to be a tenacious foe. They were pressing through multiple fronts at once, as they had been spotted to use multiple flying vessels similar to the UNSC's to get around.

Monsters in flying vessels made out of steel, traveling halfway across the country in minutes. It was nonsensical. It didn't belong here. The UNSC had brought this terror with them and now they weren't even here to fix it? No. None of these Starborn outsiders belonged in Alagaesia. Their help, though unorthodox, had been very welcome in the capturing of several towns. Spartan had kept Arya and Eragon safe and that was important, but in the end, they would all be better off without all of them. All of this would never had happened had it not been for Captain Wren and his UNSC.

The deaths of good elf-men and –women were on his hands. Could she forgive him for that? If he somehow were to save them from this Covenant threat, would she forgive him?

That remained to be seen. "And try to contact Ajihad or Nasuada. We need soldiers to counter this threat. We need the others to be aware of this. In this night of fire, we cannot allow them to spread chaos across the land. We need to stand firm and hold steady."

"By your will, my queen."

What were the races again? Because these weren't the reinforcements of the UNSC attempting to conquer the land. These were actual evil creatures, worse than the Ra'zac or urgals. Creatures that would cause the destruction of all races on the surface if they weren't stopped.

"And think, Däthedr. Think of a way we can turn this around. What were the major races again? The small ones, the ones with shields? Creatures with swords and creatures with massive cannons?"

The lord kept perfectly patient as he gave his reply, though the queen could still hear his doubt through his voice. "As I said, I know not, my queen. What I know is that these creatures have killed at least ten of our kind, and that they are moving towards our forest. We need to gather our defenses and ask the Starborn soldiers for help, or Du Weldenvarden will not survive."

In the distance, something exploded. And Islanzadí could feel the lives of dozens of ancient trees being extinguished at once.

"Then I better hope the Captain has a plan. Send messengers to the other cities and find a way to contact our allies. On foot they will never reach us, but their crafts can-"

Something flew overhead with the speed of a dragon and another section of the forest erupted into flames. The cries of the dying trees became unbearable and for the first time since years, Islanzadí tore herself away from their life-force. The experience left her jarred and shaken. She was all alone now, without the land to guide her. It was new…as if the world had just increased its size ten times over. She needed to concentrate on her own senses and instinct now, which she hadn't done in a long time as well.

"Come Däthedr," she cried. "We must leave this place, and fortify our cities!"

* * *

The faint rumbling of a distant explosion was the first sign to Raia that was something was wrong. It wasn't the type of rumbling that you normally heard when thunder struck, or when magic caused a detonation.

No, this was something else. Something much worse. She didn't know why, but the atmosphere had turned all dark and gritty. Which was odd, because normally Nia was a fairly decent city. It had a small, white wall and a big gate and all sorts of fancy, interesting buildings, including something called a "Lighthouse". Being from a little town more land-inwards than all these coastal-cities, Raia was naturally interested to see what all the fuss was about. Merchants loved to go to the coast, the Varden had their own coast and even the original Riders had an island with lots of coasts. Hell, when the elves and urgals had originally come to Alagaesia, they had also arrived on the coasts.

So when the battle for the Burning Plains had been officially taken care off and everybody important had been asked to visit a conclave, Raia had packed her stuff and started a field-trip towards Nia. It was a peaceful, quite little town and from what she had heard of it, it was supposed to be the kind of place where people could go without having to hide who they truly were. It helped that there were very few maps on which the little coast-town appeared as it truly was; on most maps, Nia appeared as an island. And that was very fortunate for her, because she hated unwanted visitors.

But now she had to deal with this…strangeness. What could shake the land like this?

Raia shook her head and walked into the inn. The sea itself wasn't even that impressive; just a large body of water. Lots of water. Everywhere she looked, water. Boring and dull.

She pulled her hood lower over her face and eyed the interior of the inn. There were a few shady people sitting in the corner, a barkeep missing an eye was polishing some glasses behind a wooden counter and two soldiers were having a conversation together close-by the entrance.

This looked like the sort of place where she could get a drink without people asking her hard questions. She had tried all sorts of magic in the past in an attempt to alter her appearance, but none had borne fruit. Her skin remained as pale as the snow atop Farthen Dür, her hair remained as red as human blood and her eyes continued to "scare the crap" out of everybody who saw her, to use Hudson's words.

Oh well. It was dark right now and humans couldn't see in the dark. That was why they were so fun to hunt down; they were blind and deaf and pretty stupid too.

…it didn't bode well that she still thought of herself as something different than human. How long ago had it been since she had completely resigned her humanity? Months? More? She knew that she didn't belong to mankind anymore, but…was it the right thing to do to simply give up on everything that she had once been?

Such questions were hard to answer. Durza had never bothered to learn the truth…but then again, he had never been a true person. The man he had once been had been completely purged from his body…and the spirits were all that remained.

Had been all that remained. Little Eragon freed them. The Rider had not disappointed her; skilled with the blade, but bright enough to see past his prejudices and look at matters how they were. In that aspect, he was brighter than both Arya as Spartan. He was only overshadowed by all the super-human warriors around him, which included both Arya as Spartan. Things could go like that.

Some people could ponder their place in the universe better if they had consumed copious amounts of alcoholic beverages. That didn't work with her; her body processed the alcohol like it did with poisons and drugs. So how was she supposed to attain a new state of mind? How should she do that which ought to be normal to any normal human?

There was an annoying humming-sound in the air. Vibrating, irritating.

But she could ignore it.

"Can I help you?" the tavern-keep asked her.

"Mead…please."

The man didn't even bother checking who she was. He lazily pulled out a bottle of mead from underneath the counter and poured her a glass.

Raia, keeping herself occupied with thoughts about the lighthouse she wanted to visit, dumped some pieces of silver into the hand of the man and reached for her mead. At least food still retained its taste; life wouldn't have been unbearable without the chance to enjoy the little thing.

Outside, the humming grew louder. It got so annoying that Raia had no choice but to set her drink down, cast a spell that would burn the hands of whoever tried to steal it and walk outside

So what was she supposed to do now? The war was still going on, both of the people she was loyal to were at each other's throat and a Shade had murdered a young Starborn soldier just for fun. That left her on a dangerous edge. On one side, she had grown rather fond of these so-called "Free Riders" and their compatriots. The stoic elves, the hilarious dwarves and all the human diversity one could wish for. On the other, she still owed her Mistress her life. And such a debt was not simply repaid. On the other other hand, Spartan had _also _spared her life. He had accepted her, given her new people and allies to work with and he had actually allowed her to live a new life.

Sure, he had murdered her twice, but she always came back.

And Nasuada treated her pretty good, too. She liked the girl; Nasuada treated her with dignity and respect, like she was an actual person. Not a lot people did the same thing. She wanted to keep working with the Varden, but she also wanted to be reunited with her Mistress. She wanted to live her life with allies and people she cared about, but she wanted to be thankful and grateful as well.

It was hard. And that hardship was only being made worse but that annoying buzzing, which just wouldn't _stop_!

The Shade looked up at the sky, where the sound seemed to be coming from. "Oh," she muttered. "That's new."

There were half a dozen strange U-shaped vessels descending from the sky, pulsating with purple lights and odd flashes. They didn't look like the belonged with the UNSC –they liked their stuff in gray and green.

More people left their homes to look at the odd vessels. Nia wasn't the largest city ever constructed in history, but it still sheltered around half a thousand citizens who lived their insignificant little lives in peace and harmony. There was no need for the Starborn to show up here, especially not with such a flashy show of power. What were they thinking?

Purple fire erupted from the small mounted-cannons on the undersides of the vessels, which sped towards the city below with the same speed as the projectiles fired from their smaller weapons. Raia barely had time to cry out with indignity when one of the bolts impacted on her shoulder, vaporizing her entire upper arm and causing the useless remainders to fall to the ground.

The Shade cried out, more in alarm than in pain, and immediately jumped backwards to avoid more strikes. The pain wasn't as bad as she had expected from having her entire arm burned off like that…initially. As soon as she had taken refuge inside one of the stone houses surrounding the tavern however, the ramifications of the wound struck her body like a bolt of lightning. Her body convulsed and spasmed and it was as if liquid fire was spreading through her nerves, consuming her from the inside.

The shadowy stub that had once been her arm shimmered and black smoke poured out of the open wound. It wasn't the sort of smoke that originated from a fire and in a way, Raia was thankful for that. It meant that the severed part of her arm would soon fall apart into billows of black, corporeal miasma and reconstruct her arm again. But that also meant she would be in for another gut-punch, because reforming was extraordinarily painful.

At least she had something to distract herself with. The vessels were indiscriminately at the scrambling forms of panicked civilians below, without bothering to target anyone that might have been a soldier. Men and women alike were cut down without mercy and soon, the air was thick with the stench of burning flesh. Houses didn't seem to protect anyone, as the fire melted straight through the rocks like they were made out of leaves.

The mind-shattering pain of her reforming arm indicated that the process was nearly finished. Raia hissed through her teeth, keeping all the pain inside. Nobody was looking at her, but she was so used to never showing a sign to the outside world that she didn't know any better.

One of the ships hovered close enough to the ground that the cannon nearly touched the smoking dirt underneath it. It was spinning around, searching for a next target. Did it have a mind of its own? Was it animated by magic?

The hatches on the outer prongs of the hull opened and if Raia had had any doubt about the identity of these attackers, it was now gone. These were most certainly NOT the UNSC; they looked like ugly monsters, with animalistic heads and strange metal masks and huge, oversized muscles.

The Shade's arm snapped back together and her ego with it. Who were these creatures that they _dared _hurt her? And just when she had found a calm little place where she could have a drink, too?

It didn't matter who they were. They were all dead.

The creatures spread out through the city and the other vessels landed as well. One of the things with the metal mask waddled by the window Raia was taking cover behind, sporting a silly backpack on its rump and a green, clawlike device in its hands. Its arms were gray and spines protruded from tis elbow, but they didn't look very dangerous. Crooked and bent, like needles in an insect.

She took one breath and tested if her new arm was as useful as the other. She burst from the window, grabbed the creature by its backpack and hauled it inside. Before it could cry out in alarm, she broke its neck and discarded its limp body as easily as she would a rabbit's.

Weak and undisciplined. Strange critters…awfully familiar, too. Oh well.

There were more of the monsters running around Nia. Ones with shimmering shields that couldn't possibly be a good idea in the night, gunning down civilians with green orbs of fire.

The nearest one spotted her jumping out of the window and turned to face her.

Well, it tried to. Raia casted one of her favorite spells and a thin beam of line erupted from the palm of her light hand, equally as bright as the shields those creatures were bearing. It burned a perfectly-round hole through the creature's chest and kept going, slamming into the wall of a burning house.

It wavered on its feet and the weapon fell from its claws, before it toppled to the ground. Dead. A most lovely sight.

What would Spartan do in this situation? Perhaps kill them all? Why, an excellent idea.

The flash of light had drawn the attention of the other shield-bearers and they screamed in their native tongue, garbled growls and hisses. Like animals, nothing more. But even a trained animal could kill and these creatures seemed to be good shots; more green fire pelted her position and she dashed to her right, dodging most of the attacks.

Not all of them though. One of the bolts splashed over her chest and immediately burned through her cloak, vest and garments. Then her skin, muscles and what passed for her ribs.

_Damnit all to hell,_ a downright furious Raia thought. Nasuada had handed her those garments and she had been _very _fond of them. _Screw it. Fuck it. _If they wanted to pick a fight with her, she'd give them a fight they would long remember. Even as her chest reconstructed itself, her mind clawed through the restrictions she had placed and reached out for the consciousness of the monsters. There were four of them, peppering her with bolts of green death. Their minds were odd, alien and more animal than human, but every consciousness had the same basic needs and factors built into it. Emotions, needs, desires. Fears.

Raia battered through one's mind, which was oddly fortified for a hound from the stars, and _wrenched _it. She ignored the subsequent emotions of confusion and fear that the creature experience and tore away at its layers of protection, assuming full control over its body and making it turn on its closest ally. A faint memory dove in its mind of eggs and a damp, dark place with lots of humidity. A nest-mate? Good.

She smirked and the creature pulled the trigger, shooting its nest-mate in the back and killing it instantly. It appeared that if their weapons burned a hole the size of a large fist into their spine, burning towards and through the vulnerable, squishy organs behind it, they would die. How convenient.

The experience left her somewhat drained, as if these creatures were not meant to control. No matter. She made her little puppet blow its own face off with a well-placed shot and then resorted to the normal methods. After all, what fun was there in exhausting yourself with difficult mind-breaking when there were hundreds of other methods to use?

There were still two creatures left, her chest had fully reconstructed itself and she had a good position from which she could fight.

One of the creatures took a tentative look at its fallen ally while Raia circled around. She spotted a vulnerable neck and launched a dozen pieces of shattered glass towards it, which tore through its hide and flesh and nearly decapitated it.

So they bled purple blood? That was fun; she had almost grown bored of all the red.

The other creature jumped back with alarm and then spotted her. It opened fire again and Raia didn't even bother to call up a ward to protect herself. If their weapons could burn through stone like that, what purpose would such a ward serve but to deplete all of her energy?

The attack impacted in her leg, but these hand-held weapons were nowhere near as powerful as their ship-mounted ones. It burned through her flesh towards her bone, before her body started regenerating again.

She could _feel _the monster glancing at the naked patch of skin on her chest, where one their shots had hit dead-center. It knew.

Raia grinned, baring her pointed teeth. The two of them unleashed their attacks at the same time and the ground underneath the creature's feet erupted into flames and molten pieces of debris. She was a much faster shot, it appeared, as the attack that was aimed for her went completely wide, carving a sizzling trail through the sky.

The creature, his gear and even his weapon were burning. The device on its wrist fell off and the shield faded away.

"I like you better this way," Raia said when she saw it collapse to the ground, dead. Now that these nuisances were all cleaned up, she could hear the screaming of a hundred dying civilians and the unmistakable discharge of more fire-weapons.

She was in no way a human fan, but this was taking it much, much too far. She hadn't even been planning on mischief tonight; just drinking a few glasses of mead and observing would have been enough for her.

Raia made her way back towards the tavern, where she had initially been struck by the purple fire. She expanded her consciousness outwards and sensed the abstract minds of at least a hundred enemies. This was going to be a long night.

The next alien she encountered saw her, jumped a foot in the air and then attempted to shoot her with a strange, purple weapon with spikes protruding from the back. Raia sighed and immediately

She could regenerate from almost every wound, but she was _not _going to be pulling big spikes and arrows out of her body. She reached into her internal flow of magic and shattered the bones in the neck of the creature, before jerking the weapon towards her. It stopped in the air just a few inches in front of her face and she took some time to observe it. The projectile-weapon looked fearsome; the top plate had a total of 14 holes where pink crystal-like needles stuck out of and there was some sort of metal sheath where she could stick her hand in Metal flaps would fit over and underneath her arm and protect her. She could feel some sort of metal bar…her fingers fit around it. What would happen if she-?

She aimed the device at the body of the alien, aligning the side of the weapon with its oddly-positioned head. Its stubby little eyes were glancing at nothing in particular and its backpack prevented it from fully tilting backwards. Why did it even wear such a stupid-looking suit? Why the mask? Did it need to breathe or something?

There was food for thought. But for now…

Raia pulled at the metal bar and watched with fascination as a crystalline shard half the size of her forearm buried itself deep within the creature's chest, splattering thick, blue blood all across the ground.

And that fascination turned to unbridled attention when the shard exploded, causing a good amount of damage to the creepy thing. Blue blood? Seriously? First purple and now blue? Even the Ra'zac weren't that weird.

There was a lesson to be learned of all this, but the Shade couldn't quiet put her finger on it. She didn't get more time to put her finger anywhere though, as a new group of enemy soldiers rounded the corner. One of them was a big, ugly thing that wouldn't be unfit among the urgals. It stood at least eight feet tall and was clad in dark-blue armour that revealed plenty of patches of skin. Plenty of places to strike.

It pointed at her and roared like a bear in its mating season. It received a flurry of pink crystals for its trouble, but the first three bounced off of its suit and exploded against the walls of the building. Only the next four managed to actually hit the damn thing, penetrating its armour and slicing through its flesh.

It was all she could do before the group of soldiers returned fire. Raia was not about to risk a stray shot to the head and experience another painful out-of-body experience, so she dived through the nearest window and cast a quick spell to use the shards of glass against the enemy, like she had before. But the cries of pain and screaming that she had come to enjoy never took place; somehow, that attack hadn't done a thing.

"Damn it all," she muttered under her breath. Her foes had been standing in the tight space between two buildings, with only three meters of total room to maneuver in. There was a pretty big chance that she had flattened the glass against the walls in an attempt to circle it around.

So what now? The rules of magic generally did not apply to her kind; they were able to last longer and cast more complicated spells than most elves, but apparently, so was her foe. Their weapons were extremely painful and near-impossible to dodge, too. How to solve this particular puzzle?

The enemy started firing at her through the windows. Enormous, metal spikes impacted on the pieces of furniture around her, each one about as large as her forearm. They radiated heat and stank even worse than an urgal that hadn't washed itself for a week. Worse than the smell of burning flesh, anyway.

No. She couldn't afford to hold back here. It was time go on the offensive, on a massive scale.

Raia reached into her flow of magic and diverted it towards the wall that the aliens were shooting full of holes. She severed the sturdy structures that kept it upright, destroyed the sections that connected it to the roof and then collapsed it in its entirety.

The four-meter-high wall came crashing down on the party of hapless monsters and buried them in a pile of rubble and stone. Limbs and weapons protruded from the heap of tangled bodies and rocks and the Shade knew that some of them would have survived that. All of them perhaps.

She stepped closer to the gaping hole that had once been a wall and sighed. "Brisingr."

The pile of rubble and ferocious aliens burst shimmered for a few seconds, before erupting into blue flames. That ought to keep them down for-

Something massive smashed into Raia's body as the pile suddenly and violently exploded, blasting her through the entirety of the house and the wall and that was still intact. She could feel heat and shockwaves washing over her and the remains of her clothes caught fire within a heartbeat. Dozens of impacts rattled her body and her vision went dark. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move. She couldn't even think –the only thing she could do was keep her eyes shut tight and protect her head against anything that might follow. An instinctive, desperate attempt at self-preservation. In the brief moment during which her world exploded into fire and brimstone, she could feel thousands of tiny knives stabbing her. She could feel her flesh tearing and burning and her bones shattering.

And after that, she could smell the stench of burning flesh even clearer than ever.

There were very few things inside of her body that could be permanently harmed. Her organs were not necessary for her continued survival, with the possible exception of her heart. They would reform on their own, leaving her hungry and weak, but alive. The same thing went for her sturdy bones, her sturdy muscles and pale skin. She was not the kind of creature that could be easily wounded.

When Raia forced herself upright, dropping rocks and pieces of debris off of her body as she did, she could feel that something was terribly wrong. She couldn't get air into her lungs, she couldn't feel parts of her body and the sensation of cold wind against her skin caused her pain that, by all rights, she shouldn't even _feel_.

She grunted and reached for her head. Slowly, she started to realize what had happened. Something had exploded…exploded with enough force and heat to destroy two of the surroundings houses and knock her half a dozen meters backwards.

Her right arm was freed of the rubble, but also devoid of any clothing. Burned, singed, charred to the bone, but still intact. Shadowy contortions were regenerating her lost mass even as she groggily stared at her limb. She couldn't feel her fingers…or her toes…her left leg…why was her chest hurting so much?

The Shade slowly pulled with her left arm and eventually, that one shot free too. It was regenerating just like her other arm, but it appeared that she could kiss goodbye to her clothes.

There was a gaping hole in her cheek and her throat-region had been crushed by rocks, but she couldn't feel the pain that those wounds ought to be bringing. Good thing she could heal…though she would have preferred a complete disembodying above this. This was just too much to handle…she had never been wounded this grievously before, not even when Spartan had lost his temper with her. It was horrible…gruesome. It was a good thing that she couldn't see herself, otherwise she have given herself nightmares.

She slowly pulled herself free of her own pile of rubble –and then something scraped across her chest.

No, that wasn't quite right. Something on her chest scraped against the rocks. Metal on rock. What-?

Raia looked down at her naked torso and saw a metal bar protruding from her chest, much too close to the left side for comfort. She uttered a small cry of alarm that went unheard and, with arms that were suddenly twitching, reached for the steel fragment that had lodged itself into her body.

No. No no no no no. The left side –there was something very important to her left side. Something terribly important. She could feel it beating, faster than ever, irregular too. It hurt. Hurt.

Her breathing fastened and she kicked with her legs, freeing herself from the pile of rubble. That hurt too. Everything hurt. Even thinking hurt. Screaming wouldn't hurt. She wanted to scream. She needed to scream.

She wrapped her fingers around the piece of metal and pulled it out, wincing all the way. As the last few inches of the fragment slid free of her flesh, she cried out in pain and alarm. She could feel her heart moving in ways it wasn't supposed to be moving and that was _very _bad. How much had it been damaged? How much…how…?

She didn't want to die. She had too many things left to do, so many things she wanted to live for. It was too soon to die –there was too much to lose!

Her body wasn't meant to be hurting like this. _Why_ had those creatures _exploded_ like that? Why? Why her? Why had she even bothered to try and defend this city? Why hadn't she simply run when she had the chance?

Raia slid down against a crumbled wall and reached for the hole in her chest, that didn't heal. Didn't heal. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see what would happen next. She had seen what would happen during the battle for the Burning Plains –what would await her. She wasn't going to look. Not going to see

Her limbs lost their strength and grew heavy. Too heavy. Cold too. Too cold. How bad. How bad was the damage?

How bad?

How bad?

She opened her eyes again and looked up, gazing up at the sky. There were…thousands of tiny lights flickering across the black canvas. So many. Each and every one…every one…were they unique? One of a kind? Shaped by something? Or were they all the same? Did it even matter how unique you were in the end?

Even the relatively peaceful moment of comfort couldn't last. A purple object with small wings flew through her vision, firing blue cannons at an unseen target. It left her vision as soon as it had entered.

Raia took a shuddering breath and clenched her fingers. Before, she had never considered uncertainty to be something bad. To spent the days without worry, without having to think about the future…that was something good. But now? Uncertainty was perhaps the worst of this all.

How bad had her heart been damaged?

The pain slowly intensified, but Raia couldn't scream, even if she wanted to. She felt much too weak for that. The morning was still so far away…and the air felt oddly cold on her naked skin. How long was this going to last?

How long would this longest night be?

* * *

Running. Shooting. Screaming. Falling. Running. The escape from the doomed Feinster was one chain of dark, nightmarish events of violence and explosions. Arya didn't have enough energy left to notice everything that was going on, but she caught enough to understand the true scale of the mess they had gotten themselves into.

Eragon was supporting her during their mad dash to safety. He had pulled her arm around his shoulders and held on to her waist with one hand, while he was firing a pistol with the other. Strange, purple objects entered her field of vision and then left as quickly as they had appeared. Around her, lights of different intensities and colours tore through the night, as if their very heat could burn through the fabric of reality. Sergeant Crane ran to the left, wielding his heavy weapon and firing away at anything that approached them.

Arya blinked a few times as darkness welled over her. She struggled to stay awake, but she couldn't. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the image of that hammer-wielding monster, turning the bodies of brave men into bloodied pulp. How? How were they ever going to beat such a relentless and lethal foe? There were hundreds of the monsters and soon, they were going to swarm all across Alagaesia. Who would stop them, when they could turn cities to ruin by simply being near? The UNSC wasn't going to stop them, so who would?

Ruined frames of buildings passed her by and she was vaguely aware of Eragon shouting something. A large body fell next to them, smoking and bleeding. It wasn't dead though, not until Eragon stopped to lob its head off with one fell sweep.

"Move!" Crane shouted. "There's a forest and mountain nearby!"

A forest? With a mountain? What use would that be when their foe could burn them above?

"Nearly there Arya," Eragon yelled in her ear. Or he didn't, and she was just very aware of how close he was. Either way, it confirmed that he was still alive.

Arya didn't know what she would have done if Eragon hadn't made it. He had turned up…really just in time to save her and the marine from certain death. In the brief time since he had become a Rider, he had done so much more than anyone could have expected from him. He had saved people, fought in wars, killed his own kin –something which not a single elf had done since the Rider Wars- and continued to act as their symbol of hope. Even now, in a war that wasn't his to fight, he kept at it with a bravery and zeal that none of the other soldiers from Alagaesia could hope to match. The dreaded foes of Starborn humanity and he immediately took it upon himself to combat them.

Something exploded in the distance and Arya felt her bones rattle. When was this nightmare going to end? Where was everyone, anyway? Richard Meester? Spartan, Edora, Daenlith and the others? Who was still alive? Where had these Covenant soldiers spread to?

She was vaguely aware that they were running up a hill. Her vision blurred again and she tried to look up, to see if they were safe already. She could see trees, a large rock, and the bright stars.

"Stop here," the rough voice of the Sergeant barked. "Drop her against that rock."

Eragon stopped and gently placed Arya down against something hard, as if he were cradling a newborn child. Had it been any other person, she would have felt humiliated to be treated as such. It wasn't the first time she had overexerted, but it was for the very first time since her torture at the hands of Durza that she had felt such terror. Such surrealism and nightmares.

Now that they had finally stopped running, Arya was able to get a good grasp in her situation. She had depleted too much of her energy, nearly enough to get her killed. Her heart struggled to keep beating and she couldn't get enough air into her lungs to stave the exhaustion away. Why had she pushed herself so hard? To save the lives of the soldiers who were bound to be their foes? To protect the humans that couldn't protect themselves?

Normally, she could not have brought herself to care for the lives or wellbeing of her enemies…but she had seen how the Imperial soldiers fought against a foe they could not hope to beat. With valor and courage. Giving away their lives so that the civilians they were sworn to protect could continue living.

She would have done the same for her kind. Were they not so different after all, Empire soldiers and elven ones?

And the UNSC soldiers then? Crane risking enemy fire to cover her, fighting on equal footing to kill the Covenant warrior that had breached their defenses…the brave Marine whose name she had not even learned, who had died during the initial skirmish. He had given his life as well. Who else would die? What else would follow?

"We have to go back," Eragon then said. Arya could see the city from the top of the hill they had sought their refuge on, and it was burning. The buildings were falling apart, the walls were on fire and the army had been routed. Feinster had been destroyed –the people just didn't know it yet.

"You gotta be shittin' me. We ain't going back there."

"We still have people there. Spartan, Meester, Wallcroft –we can't just leave them."

Arya saw small flying objects sailing in circles around the city, of which blue lights occasionally erupted. It was no mystery how the city had fallen in just minutes of war; their attacks were like the fury of some unknown god. Descending from the heavens, burning all below. If this wasn't the closest she had ever come to realizing what gods were like, she wouldn't know what had.

Saphira. She still had to be down there, as well as Aeraleth. The last dragons –they had to get out of there!

"Eragon…" she muttered.

The two soldiers stopped arguing.

"What is wrong?"

"S…Saphira…"

"Saphira is safe. She and Aeraleth retreated as soon as they spotted those flying vehicles showing up."

"Yeah, Banshees. They are probably too occupied with gunning down civilians. Listen, Spartan's a big boy. He'll make it. The rest…are you really willing to leave her here?" He must have nodded at Arya, because she didn't hear her name.

"I-"

Was he?

"-I don't know. But neither of us can make it on our own. If we get them out of there, we should do it together."

"And leave Arya to be eaten by Jackels? Or worse, captured by Brutes?"

"…I'll see if can contact anyone who might still be alive."

Arya's vision darkened, and the bright fires from Feinster faded away once more. She was only vaguely aware of someone pulling her higher up the hill and placing her with her back against a tree, before moving to fondle her in an attempt to search for wounds. She didn't protest.

Eragon sat down next to her, cross-legged and with closed eyes. Him being near calmed her, even though she had dozens of reasons not to be calm.

"Any luck?" Crane asked after a while.

"I'm not so sure…Spartan's mind is there, but it's off. Daenlith's as well, but she's off too. And Yaele-"

"Let me guess, off as well?"

"Actually, she's coming this way. The ODST and Meester are with her."

Arya opened her eyes and looked up. There were survivors? But…only Daenlith and Yaele were there? What about Orthiara and Edora? Had they not survived? Eragon had to be wrong…her kin would not fall that easily. They wouldn't…but she had…so would they…?

Thinking was so hard..

"Spartan?"

Eragon shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well fuckin' aye, that's just perfect. We're outta ordnance, ain't got ammo and we're outmatched by the entire flippin' Covenant army. Slap some pointy-ears on my head, 'cause I'm gonna live in a jungle!"

Arya blinked a few times and then looked at Eragon. "What-?"

"He says we're low on supplies and need to seek refuge in Du Weldenvarden. But first we need to regroup with the others, Sergeant."

"Get stuffed."

"I'd rather not."

It didn't take the other survivors too long to make their way towards their position, though Arya still had enough sense left to understand that they couldn't just barge up the hill. They had to move carefully, to not attract any unwanted attention. They needed to look out for enemy patrols and perhaps even move the wounded with delicacy.

Arya couldn't get the fog out of her head. It was like a thick carpet of dead pine needles, pressing down on her mind. It prevented her from thinking clearly and making the right decisions. Even calling for her magic was hard to do. Had this something to do with being drugged? Was she drugged?

"There they are," Eragon then said.

Within seconds after that statement, a trio of soldiers appeared within Arya's blurred view. One, she was glad to see, was elf. The other two were human soldiers. Those too she was glad to see.

"Meester," Eragon called. He then handed a large, black rifle to the soldier, who carried himself with a crippled stride. The man called Wallcroft was supporting him on one side, while Yaele supported him on the other. It was…odd to see another elf allowing a human being so close, but these were odd times. "I believe this is yours, sir."

But Meester shook his head. His face was old and wrinkled, and his right hand was bandaged up. "Keep it. I won't be shooting anything two-handed for a while."

"Heads down means hands and feet as well, cock-up," Crane said.

"Brutes ambushed us. We're lucky to be alive –magic is some real stuff."

"No shit. Arya practically saved our arses before we jumped into the lap of a Chieftain."

"Guys," Wallcroft said in a soft voice. "You gotta be taking the piss here. We've got to keep moving, you're standing out like bollocks on a bulldog here."

"What-?"

Eragon shrugged. "I don't even know. Bur we've got to wait for Spartan, I said this before-"

"And we'll say it again. You don't get it, do you? We don't work to support the jolly giant, we work to make sure nobody gets in his way. When he goes to score a few hundred more kills, we only polish his flippin' rifle!"

What?

"Crane," Meester sharply called. "Cut it out. Wallcroft, is this everyone?"

"Yeah. The others didn't make it. That's why we gotta move; if the Covenant finishes ripping up those civvies, we'll be next. We've got to link up with reinforcements."

"I agree. Anybody currently left inside of that city is either dead, or will be dead ten minutes from now."

Another one of those "Banshees" opened fire on something down in the city and a small sigh escaped Arya's lips. If only she could understand…if only she could fully realize what they were talking about. Was this really the effect of meager exhaustion?

Did it even matter?

"We're going to leave Feinster just like this? I thought you were soldiers. Soldiers who strove to protect humanity. That down there, burning and dying, is all human."

"Sometimes you gotta make the decisions that other people can't stomach. You ought to focus on your dragon, kiddo. She's a big, blue arrow screaming "shoot me down please". Get her to safety, somewhere with cover."

"Saphira can help us. She can carry us somewhere safe as well!"

Where would safety be? In Du Weldenvarden, hidden deep behind the magic and skills of elven spellcasters? In Farthen Dur, hiding from the Covenant menace underneath tons and tons of dwarven-mined stone? What if those monsters started burning the forest down? What if they could just burn the mountain to ashes?

"She won't last one day with all this traffic."

"You underestimate her."

"You underestimate the Covenant. Better pilots than the telepathic lizard have died."

"Enough! Whether we argue or sit here with our thumbs up our arses, the Covenant is here. Right now. If we cannot organize our troops, we are dead. All of us. It won't stop with Alagaesia. Now I don't care if these bastards are here to have a tea-party with Arya's mother or if they have found the Forerunner key to creating black holes, they won't get their way. Because we're going to be there to shoot them in the face."

"Inspiring," Meester commented.

"Thank you. I like to keep it simple. I would ask who's in charge, but I think we're here with three Sergeants, one teen Rider and one ambassador who looks paler than the meat we get served in the hall. Which way to Du wibblyvarden?

"Weldenvarden. Halfway across the land, hundreds of miles to the North from here."

"Plan B. Father's Door?"

"Farthen Dur. Same story, hundreds of miles to the east. We could go back to Surda and link up with some of the Varden. That's the only friendly territory we have right now."

"And that means we'll be finding good UNSC stuff there. Right."

Arya felt Yaele crouching down next to her, observing her. Checking for injuries.

"You over-exerted yourself, Dröttningu. You are lucky to be alive. With your permission…?"

She had no idea what permission would be needed, but she nodded nonetheless. A few moments later, she felt the young elf's mind nudge that of herself, linking up as magicians might when combining their powers. An intimate, desperate maneuver, but an appreciated one. She could feel a steady trickle of energy coming from her kin, invigorating her and washing away her sores.

"How did you survive?" Arya whispered. "Where are the others?"

Yale lowered her head and sighed. "I know not what happened to Orthiara. Edora was hit by that magical fire. One to her chest, one to her head. They cut straight through her wards, but I might have been able to save her, had she not been struck in her head. Wallcroft and I were so close… close to getting Edora out of there. But we were too late."

"Do not blame yourself," Arya replied. The one called Wallcroft was currently standing next to Eragon, pointing at something in the sky. "More brave souls were extinguished tonight than we can mourn. You and the Starborn might not even have been capable of saving her."

"You words, though kind , do not lessen the pain of losing a friend, Dröttningu."

Yes…she knew the feeling. It would take a long time to get over something like that. "They were not meant to. How did you and this Wallcroft survive?"

"Ultimately due to him. He pulled us both into the sea when the enemy first arrived, then navigated us through the burning city, as countless humans fell around us. I admire him for staying calm…and I detest him for it."

Arya understood. But she also understood that, while this abhorrent display of crimes against life was new to them, it was not to the UNSC. They had seen this before…and before…and before…with millions and millions of lives lost. Entire worlds, burned from the skies. That could not happen here. Would not happen here.

She carefully got to her feet, just when Eragon nodded at one of the soldiers and said, "Saphira can carry the six of us if we allow her. Once we are away from the coast, she can move us to the Varden."

"Good. Meester? You up for this?"

"Call me Whiskey. I'll keep an eye on our supplies and six."

"Nice. Crane? "

"I'll continue to try and get contact with any pilots in the vicinity. If India is still alive, she'll give us a ride. She still owes me a favor."

"Bloody brilliant mate."

Again with the accents. Elvenkind did not even have so much diversity in their language. Actually, the dwarves and humans of Alagaesia did. Were they truly that lacking in culture?

"Tell Saphira to meet us in Surda. We'll follow the river, so guide her. Any questions?"

There were none.

* * *

It was often thought that, the bigger a Covenant invasion was, the better-mounted the defenses could be. That more dropships and more enemy soldiers meant a fight on a bigger scale. Sigma Octanus IV, 24 enemy vessels and 48 UNSC vessels. Enemy casualties 18, friendly casualties, 25 destroyed and 12 crippled. Three-hundred-thousand civilian deaths, a massive morale-boost for the fleet. Those sorts of battles were known far and wide –everyone had heard of them.

But what about fights like these? Only two ships, a few hundred Covenant troops, hundreds of casualties at most. Would people know about this? The things that were won or lost? The individual losses and sorrows of soldiers fighting in a war that wasn't theirs to fight?

Would they be remembered?

The Spartan looked down at the crippled body in his blood-stained arms, and wondered if it even mattered who remembered what. The victims of Earth's first two real World Wars had been remembered for decades, until the last survivors had withered and died. And then their children had died. Their children after that. Fresh, blooded memories had turned to rock, rock had turned to sand, sand had become dust. And dust scattered.

But the blood that had been spilled…it would be remembered. The individual names of all victims of the German holocaust had been documented and saved throughout history. History remembered the dead, even when their names faded from the minds of those around them.

It was the same with this war. The names of the dead were carved into history, and they would never be forgotten. There were memorials and monuments and statues to serve as beacons of hope for the future. The Secret-Spartans weren't allowed to visit or even see those memorials, but they had developed their own ways to respect the dead.

But if you focused on the dead, would you not neglect the living? They had always been told to forget the faces of the fallen and imprint on the faces of their enemies, for the war would last forever. The dead were a given, a fact, a statistic. Nothing would change that. But the living were at risk; they could turn into dead. And that was what they fought to protect.

Now, Maine wasn't so certain anymore. He didn't know what to believe. He had one casualty in his arms, hundreds behind him. He felt more for the one than for the others. Was that because she had a chance at living? Or because he knew her, deeply, personally? Because he had never felt the pain of losing someone important, except for the vague memory of people called "parents" who had died during some forgotten invasion? He never thought about those people, even though they should have been important to him as well. When he had heard that Math-011 had disappeared during an important mission, he had felt hesitation and frustration. The closest he had come to actual sorrow.

Just fifteen minutes ago, he had experienced something else. And he didn't know what it had been. Aeraleth had attempted to explain what it was, but he hadn't understood. His memories deserted him, which was probably a good thing. It certainly wasn't anything _new_.

Half a mile behind him, Feinster was barely recognizable as a city. Banshees were circling fast and low, infantry was burning everything human-shaped they could find and in just a few hours, it would be a ghost-town. The rest of the coast would follow, and then the rest of the land. Alagaesia would burn…unless the UNSC could stop them again.

But he wasn't worried about preventing another genocide, on yet another backwater planet. At this moment, here and now, Maine was worried about the third-degree burns on Daenlith's body and how he should prevent them from turning her into another dead. He could attempt to use magic to heal her, but that wasn't without drawbacks. Nothing ever was.

The plasma had burned straight through her wards, clothes, and then skin and muscles. A large section of the flesh on her right flank was blackened and charred, and a small patch of rib showed through the injury. The same went for her left shoulder and right hip. The slightest amount of plasma had splashed on her face as well, burning away a patch of skin the size of two adjacent thumbs. Hardened Marines had died from stray shots in the past. Elves were tougher and harder to kill than humans or dwarves, but Covenant plasma could burn through ceramic plating specifically designed to ward it off.

'_Spartans were designed to do the impossible,'_ he told Aeraleth. She was guiding him towards the nearest place he could use as a temporary safe-haven; a rock outcropping similar to the one they had used to scout the city out. If he didn't treat the elf's wounds fast, they would get infected and she would be in a slow, but painful death. '_To defy the odds. Survive the impossible.'_ He paused to let it sink in. '_Better-protected soldiers have died from fewer shots. The chance for her to survive is…not high enough.'_

Aeraleth's answer was gentle, yet contained the bitter taste of the painful truth. '_And she is not Spartan. You yourself said you were not true Spartan. But you are Rider –act like one.'_

A Rider wasn't sufficient damnit! He needed a medic, or a doctor. If he could have gotten her to the _When Duty Ends_, they could have saved her. There were extensive tissue-regenerative therapies and treatments available for victims of plasma burns, even though he didn't know if they would work with wounds that would have killed a veteran ODST.

'_Just to your right, there is the cover. Be well.'_

'_You too. Stay out of sight, don't fly and use the river as cover. Remember, near Furnost, no sooner.'_

'_We shall meet again, yes?'_

'_Yes. Now move, and don't trust anything.'_

The Spartan didn't wait for a reply. As soon as he had reached the outcropping he could use to work without having to fear for air-patrols spotting him, he carefully placed Daenlith's lifeless body down and recalled what he knew. The wounds on her flank were the most serious, but they would also be the most difficult to treat. He only had so much biofoam to use, but he supposed it was the way to start.

He slowly placed the tip of the metal can against her charred bone and injected the regenerating/containing fluid inside. It would seal up any internal wounds, jump-start mitosis and disinfect the damaged tissues. In time, the foam would harden, replaced and broken down by the body itself. Had he not seen that the foam also worked on animals and aliens, he might have been worried about rejection and allergies. He couldn't afford to worry about that now, though.

Next, he tested using a simple healing spell combined with thought about how the end-result should look. Normally, unless extensive and time-consuming therapies were admitted, plasma-burns left relatively dark patches of brown skin. Something about radiation, heat and pigments. The scars weren't as thick and rippled as ballistics or blades caused, but they were…more difficult to work with. Harder. Aggressive.

Slowly, the skin around Daenlith's face started to expand and crawl. As he had expected, the new skin had to grow out of the damaged ends of the charred one, because it was already brown scar-tissue. Smooth, normal skin, just a tad darker than Takeo's face. It wasn't a problem on its own, but on a pale elf-lady, it would be rather standing out.

It beat being dead from plasma-burns.

He couldn't do the same thing with the other wounds though. The risk for infection was just too great –he couldn't do a thing with the most dangerous wounds and what he did do, was not nearly enough. This wasn't like healing Aeraleth. With his bonded partner, he was very aware where every part of her body was located. He knew her biology like it was his own. Daenlith? Not even human. He had no clue what her physiology was, how her anatomy worked or what her limits were. He couldn't work with this.

She wouldn't be walking anytime soon. If the Duty didn't return, she might be crippled for life.

'_Aeraeth, are you safe?'_

'_I am unnoticed. Safe…does not describe my current situation.'_

'_What do you mean?'_

'_These creatures? They are transporting large, purple things. Most of their vessels go there where the wind flows. Others travel to the good place.'_

Du Weldenvarden and Surda. A strike towards all allies. Why Aeraleth simply didn't call them by their names was a bit odd, but not his biggest priority. Most UNSC troops were positioned in Surda, so they would probably be able to hold out for a while, but Du Weldenvarden? The Forerunner structure was there. If the Covenant got to it…the Covenant couldn't be allowed to get to it. But the more UNSC soldiers died, the harder it would be to hold them off. Both ways would be a day or two worth of traveling and by that time, it was far too late.

Maine looked at the wounded elf again and sighed. What should he do?


	32. A false start

The radar of the _When Duty Ends _indicated that the two Covenant warships were still in hot pursuit, having released their single-ship fighters in an attempt to outflank them. The space between the moon and the planet didn't leave too much room for maneuvering though, because of two very distinctive reasons. The first one was because all three vessels were speeding in a straight line, deviation of which would require a ton of course-corrections to account for. The second was because the moon was surrounded by an asteroid field, which would require even more course-corrections just to enter unscathed.

Of course, without an AI, such course-corrections would be exceedingly hard to make.

"Enemy Destroyer has opened fire again sir," crewmember Adams calmly said. "Plasma torpedoes impact in fifteen seconds."

The asteroid field both limited Wren's options as that it broadened them. They could barely maneuver in there, but so could the Covenant. And there were multiple accounts of successful tactics being pulled off using such fields, one of which belonging to the late Captain Keyes. And before that, the slingshot around the planet, the aptly-dubbed Keyes-loop.

Could he replicate something like that? Utilize the inherently lesser-intelligence of his enemies to win this encounter without suffering extensive damage? No, he couldn't just take the intelligence of the Brutes for granted. That sort of thinking was dangerous and would get him killed. He needed to solve this the old-fashioned way. There were two enemy ships, one Destroyer and one Frigate. The Destroyer posed the most danger, as its plasma torpedoes could boil through the _When Duty Ends _in its entirety with only one or two well-placed shots.

On the other hand, the UNSC had thoroughly upgraded their hardware during the war. Their MAC was now powerful enough to punch through the defenses of any capital-sized Covenant ship in just one or two hits, instead of three to four. The kinetic damage was also mere penetrative; the hull underneath the shield would still be damaged by the sheer brute force behind the slug.

The only problem was that the gun still didn't recharge fast enough. Had they had committed enough repairs to the second MAC, their arsenal would have been formidable enough to destroy the enemy ships in a single salvo.

No such luck now.

The enemy's single-ship fighters approached their ship faster than they could make for the asteroid field. There were seven of the teardrop-shaped vessels, which wouldn't normally be a problem for the UNSC's own fighters to handle. But they didn't have enough interceptors to take care of these Seraphs, as dubbed by ONI at the beginning of the war.

But Captain Wren didn't need Longsword-interceptors to take care of these ships. "Lieutenant Jackson, activate our point defense system."

"Aye sir," the Lieutenant replied. The _When Duty Ends' _70 mm cannons flashed, chipping away at the Covenant ships' shields. New hydraulic systems and targeting software made it possible for the turrets to make precision shots without an AI, and they all proved their worth. The overlapping fields fire wore down their shields, penetrated their hulls with hundreds of armour-piercing rounds and tore through pilots and the reactors alike. The crew was rewarded with the sight of seven puffs of fire vanishing behind the _When Duty Ends, _vanishing into the darkness.

"Enemy ships destroyed," Jackson reported. Wren was glad to have him at ops; the dark-skinned man had nerves of steel, and the reflexes to boot. The more stress a situation caused, the better Jackson performed.

"Plasma impact in six," ensign Hibrowsky said.

Wren watched a large asteroid rapidly close in on the _When Duty Ends _and waited until it had reached the approximate distance required for his next move. "Detonate port emergency thrusters."

"Aye sir."

The ship lurched out of the path of the city-sized piece of rock, missing it by fifteen meters. Behind them, the Plasma torpedoes had less success. They impacted on the asteroid and sent fountains of molten metal and nickel spewing into space –an impressive show of fireworks to anyone watching for sure.

The Covenant sister-ships stayed close to each other, slowly decreasing in speed as they approached the asteroid field themselves. What were they doing? Weren't the Brutes going to chase them down?

"Sir!" Lieutenant Voerman sharply said, turning around in his seat to face him. "Spatial disruption and background radiation. They're jumping – no, hang on. Sir, enemy reinforcements inbound!"

Wren repressed the urge to curse. "Magnification on aft cameras. Cut the engines."

The _When Duty Ends'_ engines sputtered and died. Navigational thrusters fired and navigated the ship around the spinning asteroids around them, while they got a good view at the unfolding scene behind them.

Black space shimmered and distorted, roughly a thousand kilometers to the rear of the two Covenant ships. The vacuum bubbled with green and blue points of light, the stars in the distance blurred and stretched –and another three Covenant ships faded into existence, virtually out of nowhere.

Wren gripped the edges of his command chair, his blood running cold. Two more frigates, flanking a carrier.

"New contacts are turning towards the planet, sir," Voerman commented. "They are not joining the fight."

Figures. Just as things were going better, the Covenant changed the rules again. "Reroute power to the engines and push us towards the moon. Prepare for firing solutions."

"Aye sir."

The two sister-ships reactivated their engines and resumed their path towards the _When Duty Ends. _The Destroyer took the lead and moved towards the field ahead of the Frigate, lights gathering intensity at its sides again. They were preparing for another salvo, and Wren's box of tricks was starting to run out.

The UNSC destroyer surged through the field, narrowly dodging tumbling rocks and the flashing pulse laser bolts that the Destroyer was peppering them with. It was maneuvering directly in front of its sister-ship, entering the field while opening fire on all asteroids that were large enough to damage it. The rest simply bounced off its shield without harm.

"Ensign Hibrowsky, turn us around one-eighty degrees. Lieutenant Jackson, what's the status on our MAC?"

"Hot and ready sir."

The thrusters did all the work. Their ship turned around to face the Covenant Destroyer, which was coming into view within seconds.

"Arm Archer missile pod E. Prep the Shiva warhead for launch."

"Sir."

"I want the missiles to impact right after the MAC does."

The alien Carrier could carry dozens of dropships. If the forces down there had somehow managed to survive the initial onslaught, they had a whole different thing coming for them now. How were they going to solve this? They couldn't just _leave_. Well…they could, but the evacuation would not last beyond ten minutes. Their only hope was hoping reinforcements would get to them in time.

"Firing solution online sir," Jackson said. "Ready to fire."

"Fire missiles at will, Lieutenant."

Multiple rapid thumps echoed through their hull and on-screen, they could see the cluster of missiles racing towards the Covenant ship like a group of angry hawks.

"Firing MAC in four…three..."

The enemy ship was too busy with melting asteroids to properly fire at the missiles, which navigated past and around the rocks to further throw off its aim. The Destroyer fired its pulse lasers again, but they only managed to nail about one-fifth of the swarm.

"…one…firing!"

A flash of lightning tore through the dark space and the intense light poured in through the view-screen, lasting only micro-seconds. A white-hot projectile crossed the dark distance between the two ships within a second, striking the Destroyer right at the nose, where the shield couldn't properly dissipate the kinetic energy. Its shields flashed and flickered and underneath, the hull rippled and buckled.

Forty Archer-missiles impacted on the alien vessel, creating massive craters along its hull and blossoming fire and sparks all across its surface. The shield flickered again and popped back into life, but not before the ship had been thoroughly damaged by high-explosive missiles.

If only they had gotten that Phasing-tech working. Hyper-active energy-fields within the Archers were supposed to give them a twenty-percent chance at bypassing the shields entirely, but the project had demanded ludicrous amounts of energy –energy that had to be pulled from the reactors. It hadn't been viable.

Wren could only imagine their projectiles phasing through Covenant shielding; assault rifle bullets punching right through Jackel shields, or shredding Chieftain armour without trouble. It wouldn't make a difference against Hunters though…and the Elites had mostly defected.

"Bring us around again –set coordinates for the moon and prepare for the slingshot."

The enemy Destroyer was billowing smoke and burning, but still intact. The Frigate was approaching now as well, ready to enact their revenge. Wren wasn't going to stick around. The rumble of the engines was shaking the decks and he could feel the tremble in his legs. It wasn't enough. "Hibrowsky, push the engines as far as you can."

"Yes sir. Running at three-hundred percent, sir."

"Cut power down to two-hundred as soon as we are nearing speed relative to those asteroids." The asteroids…they were spinning and tumbling, but they were all stuck in their own path. In theory, he could plant a remote-controlled Longsword interceptor armed with the Shiva nuclear warhead and have it detonate near the ships. But that would be a risky maneuver, one that could put the _When Duty Ends _at risk as well.

No, no close-range nuclear detonations for now. First they needed to get some distance from the Covenant ships, then they could use their other weapons. They were outfitted with four remote-controllable mines, which could inflect a hell of a lot of damage. They just needed the timing right.

The summit with Alagaesia's leaders seemed like it had transpired ages back. He remembered the conversation he had had about magic, and how it could turn the tide of the battle.

_Not like this,_ he thought. The scales were too large; magic only worked in ground-engagements. Perhaps Alagaesia could keep itself protected against the full-blown might of a Covenant carrier?

No. It wouldn't be that easy. The Covenant would have Wraiths and Banshees on the ground, while the only few Scorpions and Warthogs on the ground would be scattered, without command. Someone needed to unite all these scattered UNSC assets, or this war was already lost. They had the reinforcements that the groundside forces so desperately needed, but they couldn't just get them down. A hundred ODST's ready for deployment, sitting ducks in the hangar bay.

"Coming around towards Slingshot," Ensign Hibrowsky commented.

"Good. Reroute power towards the engines towards heading two seven zero and keep steady," he told the woman.

"Aye."

On screen, the Frigate broke off again. It circled towards the other side of the moon, in what was obviously an attempt to outflank them. Too obvious, and just what Wren needed to turn this engagement around towards his favor.

"Lieutenant Jackson, recharge that MAC gun and ready Archer pod D1 through D7. Prep mines Alpha and Delta for deployment, then dump then as soon as ready."

"Sir."

The _When Duty Ends_ had its back turned towards the smoking Destroyer and was now rapidly being drawn in by the moon's gravity field. If they timed it correctly, they could surf the gravity all the way to the other side of the moon without it requiring any significant power. Faster than they could do in the same amount of time, anyway.

"Enemy vessels confirmed near the planet sir," Lieutenant Voerman said.

"Don't worry about that. Keep an eye out for that Frigate –we're going to target that next."

Nobody asked him what they would do about the Destroyer. That one would come later.

For twenty nerve-wrecking seconds, the only sounds were the steady thumping and rumbling of the ship's engines and the controlled breathing of the crewmembers. Wren hated waiting. In ship-to-ship combat, every second counted. Firing solutions, weapon impacts, everything was counted in time. Your orders had to be timed to perfection if you wanted to make a difference.

His thoughts traveled to the surface of Alagaesia, where he could imagine everything falling apart. Cities burned from above, armies massacred and forests blown apart…and the USNC forces positioned around Surda would be facing enemy numbers more than triple their size. These were worse than the normal odds, and the normal odds were why they were losing this war.

_This Forerunner cache better be worth it_, he thought.

The _When Duty Ends _approached the other side of the moon, where the Covenant Frigate was waiting for them. Red lights had collected around its lateral lines and it was heading towards them, full power.

"Give me a firing solution that has our missiles hitting with the MAC!"

"Äye sir." Lieutenant Jackson typed a short string of numbers, and said, "Solution online sir."

"Fire."

Dozens of missiles snaked towards the enemy vessel, burning trails of exhaust through the dark space.

"Sir, Frigate on collision course," Lieutenant Voerman shouted.

So the Brutes wanted to play this the hard way? He could go with that. "Jackson! MAC?"

"Ready five seconds sir!"

The enemy Frigate opened fire as well. A large bolt of Plasma streaked across the vacuum, speeding towards them with increasing speed. No way they could dodge that. But it didn't need to hit them right in the bridge either.

"Hibrowsky, fire upper lateral thrusters 3 through 7!"

Multiple things happened at once. Jackson yelled that the MAC was ready, seven rapid thumps exploded through the upper decks and the ship jumped multiple dozen meters lower. At the same time, Wren cried for the MAC to be fired even as the missiles impacted on the Covenant Frigate, but only after it had shot down a third of them.

The enemy plasma tracked them and impacted two seconds after the _When Duty Ends _fired their MAC, sending another streak of thunder and lightning across space.

Blue light washed across their view screen and it flickered out. Dull thumps sounded through the _When Duty Ends_ like a burst of machinegun-fire and the ship lurched to the side, nearly starting to roll with the force of the impact.

"We're hit!" Lieutenant Voerman said. "Decks A, B and C are decompressed, sections three to fourteen. Venting atmosphere."

"Ready mine Ceta and seal those sections. I want that mine stuffed down the frigate yesterday, Lieutenant Jackson."

"Sir!"

One of the smaller bays of the _When Duty Ends _opened up and deployed a black, spherical device. The mine couldn't crack a fully-charged Covenant shield, but it excelled at waiting for the right moment to give an unwary Shipmaster a nasty surprise. And with the semi-operational stealth-systems, the Frigate couldn't blow it out of the way yet.

"What's the status of the Frigate, Voerman?" Wren demanded.

"Still intact sir!" the Lieutenant replied. "Scans show it's gutted from stern to stern and venting atmosphere. Still on collision course."

"Reverse engines and get us the hell out of here before that mine blows. Heading five, zero nine. Full power and detonate front thrusters 8 and 9."

With the view-screen deactivated, Wren had no way of knowing how or when the enemy ship would run into that mine. It could be in five seconds, also in fifty.

The _When Duty Ends _grinded to a halt and moved towards the new course. Technicians ran up towards the damaged screens and started rerouting power from nonessential systems.

The Captain nervously counted to five, then to ten. The screen flickered to life again and he felt a small measure of victory, before seeing the positons of the mine and the respective ship about to run into it.

"Collision warnings!" he hit the intercom and yelled, "Brace yourselves!"

The Covenant Frigate, burning, trialing smoke and venting atmosphere, bumped into the tiny and insignificant little piece of debris and unleashed a hellish shockwave, rupturing its hull and ripping the ship completely in half. The _When Duty Ends, _roughly a hundred kilometers away from the impact-sight, felt the full impact of the detonation. The ship tremored and rolled around completely, and the gravity couldn't fully accommodate for it. Wren flew in the air, experienced a two-second moment of freefall in his stomach, then violently smacked into the floor again. He heard the sounds of glass breaking and computers falling to the ground, and felt something hard underneath his legs. Pain shot through his spine and it took him a few seconds to catch his breath.

"D-damage report!" he coughed. He looked around and saw that he had awkwardly falling across his command chair, resting his head on the edge his feet were supposed to hang over.

"We've lost communications with the upper decks, sir. Fire on D, E and F, but systems are still active."

Lieutenant Voerman scraped his throat and said, "Enemy Frigate destroyed. Nice work, sir."

"Heck, I never saw any of those old basket-caches used right," Jackson said with his heavy voice.

With a little luck, the Destroyer would run into the other two mines with their crippled nose first. If not, they could still remote detonate them for maximum damage. For now, a small victory. "What's the word on the repairs for the second MAC? I want it spun up and hot by the time we need to engage again."

* * *

"Faster Marine!" Sergeant Evans screamed at the young Corporal behind the wheel. "You want to die in fairy-land?"

"Hell no sir!" the Marine shouted back and put the pedal to the metal, even though the landscape would only punish them for it.

Behind them, two Banshee fliers just couldn't get it through their thick cockpits that they weren't welcome at the UNSC's party near rally point Omega. Evans opened fire and the Light Anti-Air Gun filled the sky with hundreds of rounds, turning one of the Banshees into a smoking fireball soon to meet the hard face of Alagesia's ground. The kickback of the turret jarred his teeth and numbed his fingers, but it was totally worth seeing another one of the fliers becoming one with nature.

The other got a few good hits in though; plasma bolts impacted on the ground next to them and the metal frame of the door grew considerably hotter. At least it was still holding together; the previous models would have had their tires fried off by such a close hit.

They approached the end of one hill, and Sergeant Evans could see that it was a pretty steep drop at their current speed. But behind them, another Banshee was coming around for attack. They didn't really have the time or nine lives needed to perform a successful breaking-maneuver.

"Hang on to your teeth!" the Corporal yelled.

"What?"

The four wheels of the LRV Warthog left the ground as their momentum carried them overhead, right over the top of the hill and dropping into a freefall of six meters. The Corporal screamed all the way, while Evans never lost track of the trailing Banshees.

The heavy vehicle smashed into the ground and the massive suspensions absorbed about half the impact. Sergeant Evans nearly got knocked off his turret, and it was only because the anonymous serviceman that dared to call himself a driver pulled a sharp left, away from the stump of a tree and reuniting Evans with his LAAG.

"Hang on sir!"

"Christ, just get us there intact!"

A green explosion shattered the ground behind them, and waves of overpressure and heat pelted the two Marines, both of whom ducked deep to avoid the debris. They had been part of a small convoy attempting to regroup with the main Headquarters in Surda after the Covenant had hit, but everything had gone to hell. They had been ambushed by a shit-load of Banshees and they had lost track of the other Warthog, which had been a transport-model. Whether they were still alive or not was debatable.

Another Banshee came into view and this time, the Sergeant was ready. He pressed both of his thumbs onto the trigger-pads and the Brute piloting the craft became the proud new owner of about a hundred new 12.7X 99M armour-pierced holes, his Banshee ripped to absolute shreds by the sustained burst of fire.

That's what the dumb monkey got for flying so close…

"How far to the RV?" He shouted, trying to get above the roaring of the engine.

"About five minutes sir!"

"Right." Evans took a deep breath-

-and smelled something distinctively non-Warthog. What was-?

Ah. "Corporal, if you could find a river to ride through, don't hesitate to take it."

"Why sir?"

"Because we are on fire."

The last Fuel Rod impact had burned away their rear-bumper, setting fire to some of the internal compartments of the Hog. Evans could see the smoke rising from underneath both sides of his gun and it was only because of their completely-irresponsible speed that he hadn't choked on the poisonous fumes already. He had lost his helmet during the initial ambush, when their Warthog had taken a direct hit, rolled three times across the ground and pulled away on two wheels.

How the Corporal had managed to pull the Hog out of a triple barrel-roll doing a damn _wheelie _was behind his levels of comprehension.

He didn't get paid enough to comprehend anyway.

"Fire? How-?"

"Just drive son!"

"Sir!"

The Sergeant was left to ponder his future on the gun. Either the good Captain had gotten his ass kicked in space, or the planet had gotten its ass kicked, because a godddamn Carrier had appeared in the sky. The UNSC forces from the _When Duty Ends _were badass enough to repel all the troops that the covvies could muster with their two puny ships, but a Carrier was a completely different story. Those things could dump legion after legion from their gravity lifts, including Banshee fliers and Wraith tanks like nobody's business. One Spartan could kill a thousand Covenant troops, but when those numbers became four-thousand? Five-thousand with the already-present forces?

Nobody was that lucky. The original forces in Surda counted about…what, a hundred soldiers? A few Hogs and Scorpions?

Original odds were being outnumbered three-to-one. Those were odds he could handle. Odds he liked. Being outnumbered about…fifty-to-one? Not enough Spartans in the galaxy.

Not even enough ammo. Their Warthog could run on water –hydrogen-engine and all that- but their bullets couldn't.

Perhaps local magicians could magic them some new bullets?

They were getting closer to the RV. Sergeant Evans knew, because the sounds of automatic weapon-fire and explosives was getting louder every second. And so was the screaming of rabid Grunts, enraged Brutes and steadfast humans.

The few trees left made way for sand, and their Warthog flew down the crumbling slopes of what had once been a proper hill. They were now officially racing towards a massive battlefield with about 125 Kilometers per hour, and every sense of reason or self-preservation had been thrown out of their non-existent windows.

"Baddies ahead!" the Corporal shouted.

"Where?"

The Warthog plowed through a mob of startled Grunts, crushing four of them at the same time and sending another three sailing off.

"Never mind."

Evans brought the turret to bear and opened fire on every colour of the rainbow except for good-ol' fashioned green. The battlefield was, in fact, a field on which people and freaks were doing battle. There was a large city in the distance, and about seven deep trenches that were reinforced with wood and stone. UNSC personnel were repelling one of the sloppiest Covenant attacks Evans had seen in a while, but tactics didn't matter when your numbers were large enough. The Marines had about four Warthogs and a Scorpion, and the Covenant…

Well, they never played fair anyway.

"Did you feel something sir?" the driver asked as the heavy suspension-gears consumed a Brute that had been aiming a Brute Shot at the defendants.

"It's just you Marine," the gunner replied as the rear-end of the Warthog spewed out a badly-mangled and crushed corpse.

They raced parallel to the defending trenches, trailing smoke and fire and desperately trying to get a bead on the commanding officer so that they could check in. Evans could only imagine how silly they must have looked to the various native soldiers running around. He didn't complain though; the Covenant was just as startled by their dynamic entry, and it showed as even Brutes stopped to stare at them. He pulled the triggers until his arms were numb and his legs were aching, and the thunderous turret didn't cause simple flesh-wounds. Grunts and Jackels popped into fountains of blood and gore and even the though-as-nails Bravo-Kilos were torn asunder like his mother's cherry-cake faced with four hungry Marines armed with spoons.

He could use some cake right about now.

"Big hammer ahead!" the Corporal shouted.

The wise words of Evans old CO, a master of the ways of the Warthog, echoed through his head. "_One word: handbrake."_

Hammer plus Warthog equaled dead Marines. He couldn't have that. "Brake! Brake!"

The Corporal replied with the trained reflexes that only the drive of a Hog could muster. He brought the vehicle to a sudden and grinding stop just as the Brute swung its big stick. The almighty impact of the hammer was consumed by the almighty suspension of the Warthog, and the two Marines weren't faced at all.

The Corporal then pulled the Hog in the reverse and drove them directly away from the Brute, which had flown into a berserker rage.

"Faster!" Evans cried, bringing the turret to bear. The Brute's massive legs were creating deep gaps into the sand as it sprinted towards them, swinging the hammer overhead for another impact. It would have been funny to see, had it not been so difficult to get some good speed when stuck in a deep layer of warm sand. "Corporal!"

The Brute roared in rage and was about to strike a second time, when its head exploded.

"Good shot sir?" the Corporal feebly asked.

"Not my kill," the Sergeant replied. He scanned the trenches for the signature weapon that had been used and was pleasantly surprised to see two Marines wielding Sniper rifles entrenched in one of the middle lines, scoring headshots on high-profile targets. "Well, that just makes my day. Come on Corporal, bring this tub around before-"

Plasma fire and Needler-rounds found their marks into the side of their Warthog. The purple shards simply bounced off, but the green and blue bolts nearly melted their door away.

The driver didn't need more incentive. He threw the steer around, kicked the e-brake once more to spin the massive Jeep around on a dime and then floored the pedal. Evans meanwhile spotted a few Ghosts racing towards the trenches. Ghosts that needed killing fast.

He was more than happy to oblige. He brought the LAAG to bear and unleashed another storm of metal, stopping the hovering vehicles dead in their tracks with the hail of bullets that tore through their metal and ripped through their engines.

But there were so many of them. Now that they had officially gotten closer to rally-point Omega, Sergeant Evans could see how much Covenant there really was. There were hundreds of the little Grunts, Dozens of the Brutes -and it looked like they had brought a few tanks with them as well. Wraith mortars sailed through the sky, casting odd lights at the Jackels underneath then. The amorphous blobs would obliterate everything in a twenty-foot radius of where they impacted, leaving only charred pieces of coal.

Not on his watch. The situational report would have to wait –the Wraith was the largest threat to the defending forces.

"Are you hit, Corporal?" he asked.

"No sir."

"What's your name?"

"Corporal Jake Matthews, sir. Do we have a plan?"

"We do. We are going to drive straight through the enemy ranks, shoot their tanks, then return to the rendezvous point."

"Excellent plan sir. With or without air-support?"

Evans looked in the sky, saw no airships, dragons or flying horses, then looked back at his official driver. "It's not raining yet."

"Good enough for me sir."

Such spirit. Excellent.

It was a rather counterintuitive thing, charging through enemy lines in only a feeble Warthog. Even though they did manage to circle around somewhat, there were dozens and dozens of angry aliens in their way. Jackels with Plasma Pistols, Grunts with Needlers and Brutes with Spikers and Brute Shots. Their speed was their only saving grace; most projectiles missed them as they surged past their lines with more speed than was advisable in a zone like this. Sand and pieces of rock kicked up by their massive tires caused large clouds behind them, but luckily those only served to hide them from the enemies they had already passed. Evans didn't know how much fuel he had left, but he was really happy that UNSC equipment didn't jam or get clobbered with sand like the Covenant's might. The Light Anti-Air Gun was not susceptible to silly things like jamming and blocking and the Hog itself truly lived up to its name of an All-Terrain Vehicle, because it did carry them way behind enemy lines. But by the time they had reached the Wraith, the Warthog was battered, burning and smoking. More than it had been before. Red lights were flashing on the dashboard and he had the nasty feeling that they had left quite a few parts on the self-made road towards their target.

"There it is!" Corporal Matthews shouted. "A Wraith!"

Yes, he could see that, thank you very much. The big purple thing was properly aligned with the entrenched Marines and slowly zeroing in on their position, even though it hadn't yet scored a direct hit. It only needed to get one direct good one in to breach all their defenses though; it needed to go right now.

But Sergeant Evans hadn't thought that they would actually get close to the tank in question. Now that they were…he had no clue how to proceed now.

The tank faced them, but it couldn't fire on them, because they were within its kill-radius. It would only harm itself if it tried to shell them now.

What was its weak-point again? Lots and lots of gunfire, missiles and rockets? Lasers, shells and...an actual weak-point. The engine was vulnerable to Grenades; he had seen a video-file of their Spartan flipping over the tank, landing on the rear and planting his fist straight up its exhaust-port or something like that. Several punches had blown the thing to pieces.

Then again, the Spartan had also managed to do that with the hatch, beating right through it and killing the driver with a bone-crushing punch. But the morale of the story was still present.

Namely "shoot it in the bum, because there is a light there."

"Circle around!" He barked. "The rear, I want the rear!"

"Is that the first time you have said that sentence, sir?"

"Partially."

The Wraith must have activated its afterburners, because it suddenly surged forwards to crush them. Sergeant Evans made a mental note to thank the Covenant driving-system and brought the turret around to shoot the now very-present engine in the rear.

"That was the worst driving ever," Corporal Matthews commented as the Wraith exploded into a brilliant flare of blue and white, showering pieces of debris everywhere. "Of all time."

"Not yet Marine! We still have to get back in one piece!"

There were many positive aspects of cutting through enemy ranks in a high-speed vehicle. Being stranded in the middle of a crowd of pissed-off Covenant soldiers wasn't one of them.

But they were prepared this time! The reverse could theoretically bring them to the same speeds as in the right direction. They just needed to have less sand to bury themselves underneath, and the Wraith had been hovering over a somewhat rocky ground. Actually, that was no form of preparation in any way, but it would work.

"Reversing!" Matthews yelled in a frantic voice as Plasma fire boiled their window screen away. "Christ, I can't see shit!"

"Keep reversing!" Evans yelled right back while laying down a thunderous field of suppression fire, tearing through files of Grunts and Jackels and peppering the few Ghosts that had gotten interested in them as well. The Warthog, near-molten and utterly devoid of armour-plating at this point, still managed to get some good speed in before their last wheel flew off, five Spiker-rounds sticking out of it.

The Sergeant watched the last round object of their Warthog come to a still against the feet of a surprised Grunt –their steer had caught a blast and was now officially two metal bars instead…well, a steer- and realized that there wasn't anything funny about it. They needed every single vehicle they could get and they had just ruined a perfectly-good Warthog to take out a Wraith. Was that a good tradeoff? How many Wraiths did the enemy have? How much did they need to sacrifice to win?

The Hog skidded to a halt and dug itself deep within the sand, where pockets of Plasma still caused the formation of small collections of glass.

They were only halfway across the battlefield.

"Abandon vehicle!" Evans shouted, letting go of the molten slag that had once been their turret. "Matthews, go!"

The young Corporal jumped out of the seat and nearly lost his footing in the loose sand that their vehicle was stuck in. He had his Assault Rifle in his arms, but his Sidearm was missing.

"What now sir?" he asked as plasma rounds impacted all around them.

"Leg it!"

The order couldn't have been formulated clearer. The two Marines turned their backs on the Covenant troopers steadily advancing and started running towards the entrenched allies. But Evans hadn't even crossed four meters or he knew that they were never going to make it in one piece. He could feel the Plasma rounds flying through the air, so close that they started his armour to melt already.

Then, Corporal Matthews took a Needler round to the leg, which detonated and crippled the young soldier. He fell to the ground screaming, blood pouring from the opening in his calf.

Sergeant Evans took one look at the relatively safe trenches, and then looked back at his driver. He was going to hate himself for this.

"Shit! Hang on!"

He kicked up entire kilos of sand as he changed directions, making his way to his fallen comrade. UNSC fire flew him around his ears and he wasn't sure whether they were trying to cover him, or blow him out of the way. Either way, the Covenant couldn't advance on them as steadily as they had. The destruction of the Wraith seemed to have lessened their interest, but not for too long.

Plasma splashed across Evan's left arm, burning straight through his ballistic armour and ripping into his flesh. He bit back a scream, failed to do so, then hauled the fallen Corporal back to his feet with his right arm.

"We. Are. Leaving!" he shouted.

The Corporal responded by ripping Evan's Sidearm from its holster and return fire to the enemy soldiers behind them. Whether he actually hit anything or not was up for debate, but the net-result was that one more gun aiding their fallback, even though it was their own gun.

Hobbling with an injured soldier while being an injured across of a field towards uninjured soldiers was easier said than done. The projectiles still impacted all around them, and another plasma bolt struck Evans on his right leg, just above his knee. He cursed when his leg gave out underneath him, the flesh on his leg burning and sizzling from the boiling-hot plasma. The pain hit him seconds later, mind-numbing, bone-shattering and narrow-burning pain. Familiar pain. Dull, broad, annoyingly painful.

The two of them crashed to the ground a few meters in front of the first trench. The first phase line. _So _close to safety…

Sergeant Evans groaned and tried to pull himself forwards, but the Corporal's body weighed him down. Both of them nailed in the leg, both of them unable to move.

Goddamnit.

Someone stepped in front of him. "Keep your head down."

Such a calm voice…Evans looked up and saw a man with a black BDU and reflective spectacles, wielding the most massive handheld weapon that he had ever seen in his entire life.

"What-"he muttered, temporarily managing to push his pain away to try and communicate with this man.

The spectacled soldier aimed the shoulder-held weapon at a distant enemy and pulled the trigger. For a few slow and exceedingly painful seconds, nothing happened. There was an audible whine as the weapon somehow charged up, but that was about it.

The whine grew progressively louder, until a bright red beam shot out of the lens-like barrel. The red laser existed only for a second, but its sheer intensity and heat rivalled –no, surpassed that of Covenant weapons.

How long had the UNSC had this thing?

"That was that," the man said, before looking down at the two fallen Marines. "Welcome to rally-point Omega."

* * *

'_Maine. Maine!'_

'_What?'_

'_You have not moved. You must move!'_

'_Where to_?'

'_Anywhere but there. You are vulnerable, and you are needed.'_

The Spartan knew that he was needed. That was exactly why he was staying put –to stay with those who truly needed him.

'_Do not ignore me. This is your foe, and this is your war. You must take action!'_

What did she expect him to do? Where could he go? He was stuck on the middle of the land with no transport, no ordnance and no support. He had nothing –no plans, no tactics, no…no motivation.

He remembered Oromis asking him what he fought for. The reason for his continued struggle against the Covenant menace. Back then, he had thought that his only reason to exist was because he needed to protect mankind. A weapon, aimed at the enemy, pulling his own trigger. Eragon fought for something he believed in…in peace, and the better nature of man. For Arya, and Saphira, and Orik and everyone he cared about.

What did he believe in? Peace would be the best outcome of his fighting, but it would also end his life. He could never ever adapt to a civilian life again. So did he fight for peace? Would he sacrifice himself again, purely by not fighting?

Who did he fight for? So far, every ounce of motivation he had had, had been for Aeraleth. For her future, her happiness. That was important to him.

If he did not fight the Covenant, Aeraleth would die.

Maine looked down at the crippled body lying next to him. If he did not fight the Covenant, Daenlith would die too.

He hated the Covenant for their slaughter of human beings. For the billions that had died in pain and in vain. These were Brutes, even worse than the Elites. They were cruel butcherers, every single one of them. He wanted them dead. He wanted them gone. Extinct.

So what did he fight for? For Aeraleth, for Daenlith, for the death of the Brutes? Was that his motivation?

In the distance, Covenant dropships searched the wreckage of Feinster. There were Spirits, Phantoms, Banshees…but most of them were gone. The main bulk had moved on. To Surda and to Du Weldenvarden.

'_Maine?'_

Aeraleth's voice adopted a hesitative tone. Fearful, uncertain. She didn't know what he was going to do, and she didn't like it.

Banshees were disappearing…only one Spirit and one Phantom left.

Du Weldenvarden was to the North, while Surda was so much closer. Everything inside of him screamed to go to Du Weldenvarden…he _should _go to Du Weldenvarden. The Forerunner structure was there…

But the elves would never be able to heal Daenlith within time. Only UNSC medical supplies could. Surda was his most logical choice.

This was a choice between stopping the Covenant and saving the elf. Prior to his arrival here, he wouldn't have hesitated a second. If the Covenant got their claws on new Forerunner tech, humanity would be in jeopardy.

The Covenant could wait.

'_Aeraleth, meet me near Aberon, the human capital in Surda.'_

'_What, alone? Without you?'_

The Spartan glanced at the Phantom dropship and then at the rock outcropping behind him. '_How fast can you get there on your own, without being spotted?'_

'_I can make it in half an hour. But I will not leave you!'_

'_I can get there earlier.'_

'_You –you have a plan?'_

'_In a manner of speaking. I need you to head to Aberon right now. I won't be long.'_

'_What about the elf?'_

'_She will come with us. And she will be safe.'_

'_Will you be safe as well?'_

Her worry and apprehension for him were adorable. '_I am a Spartan. Humans have a saying about Spartans.'_

'_I take it that is a yes?'_

Maine gathered his magical energy and created an orb of floating red light, just a few meters next to the rock outcropping. '_Yes.'_

'_Then may the stars watch over you.'_

'_Since when did you start repeating the elves?'_

She did not share his humor. '_Since I found out the stars are attempting to kill us.'_

'_Good enough.'_

He pulled away from her contact and watched the Phantom dropship coming in hot, displaying a healthy interest in the magical orb of light. Good.

The Spartan gently hid Daenlith's unconscious body in a place where she would be safe, then scanned the large outcropping for the path he had found earlier. Everything would need to go perfectly, or his life would be the last thing put at risk.

The dropship stopped at a few dozen meters distance and opened fire on the orb. Of course, the plasma didn't do anything to the light except for making it shimmer.

_Look at that,_ Maine thought. _Isn't that pretty? Get a closer look._

The pilot must have been an inquisitive one –or a stupid one. He brought the ship closer to the floating orb, seemingly unworried about the tall rock that could be hiding people. Or Spartans.

The hatch opened and the gunner –a Grunt wearing a green backpack- left the plasma cannon and reached for the light. His claw extended towards the red orb-

-and the Spartan burst into movement. Rocks crumbled into dust underneath his heels as he sprinted towards the outcropping, climbed it in a few large strides and lunched for the ship. The Grunt was still reaching for the light when the super-soldier took the jump, leaping three meters into the air and clasping the metal plating of the underside of the ship. He pulled himself up and inside with one hand and looked at the Grunt.

"Argh!" it yapped with its methane-rich voice. "D-demon!"

The Demon in question grabbed the Grunt by the front of its harness, relieved it of its plasma grenades and pistol, ripped its mask off and threw it out of the ship. The small body went sailing off into the distance, disappearing in the dark night.

Sometimes, he got a bit creative. He liked doing so.

The Grunt on the opposing side of the ship just managed to jump off its gun and turn around before the Spartan pulverized its skull with a lightning-fast jab. By that time, the pilots had found out that something was wrong, as a large Brute stepped out of the smaller room and aimed his Spiker.

Maine had a bigger gun. The Covenant soldier's flesh ignited, its own weapon fired in a spastic muscle-fit and its body crashed to the ground. Smoking. Dead.

Such a lovely sight.

By the time the Spartan entered the cockpit, the Brute was still trying to keep his focus on the controls of the ship, to keep it from crashing. The thing made for a very vulnerable target because of that, and it didn't even get enough time to turn around in confusion before the sleek combat-knife carved its throat open.

But Brutes were annoyingly-resilient. With one meaty hand pressed to its throat, the pilot jumped off its seat and turned to face the invading Spartan.

Said Spartan was more than happy to give the alien the fight it wanted. He formulated the spell he needed in the same time-span it took the Brute to think, and neatly severed its head. The thin layer of tissues exposed because of the more-than-slit throat was vulnerable to damage, and it only took the Spartan a small effort to completely sever them.

The body crashed to the ground in two pieces and Maine dove behind the flashing screens, calling upon vague memories and training-schedules in an attempt to replicate the pilot's efforts of not letting the thing crash in a big ball of blue fire.

Hijacking Phantoms had never been so easy. All Spartans had been trained to use captured enemy ordnance, including but not limited to: dropships, tanks, fliers and weaponry. He just needed to figure out how to activate the gravity lift and then he could forge his path to Surda.

He couldn't remember the last time he had flown in a captured enemy ship. He had jacked dozens of Banshees, Wraiths and Ghosts during the long years of the war, but…his memory seemed to fail him. It was failing him more often lately, and he had experienced first-hand what that would lead to. The first fits of aggression had already taken place…and so had those black moments of uncontrolled rage. Brutes flew into a berserker-rage when their Chieftain or packmates were killed, stopping at nothing to violently murder their foes. He had always thought himself superior to the enemies he killed; smarter than the Insurrectionists, stronger than the Grunts and Jackels and better-trained than the Elites. Hunters were a totally different stories…and so were Brutes. Sure, he was smarter and better-trained than the apes, but he was also better on a mental level. More disciplined and controlled…a refined weapon instead of a blunt one.

Until the anti-psychosis drugs stopped working. What was he then? Stronger, faster, more aggressive…less human. Undisciplined, a gun with its safety permanently clicked off.

He closed the hatches and carefully placed Daenlith's body against the purple chair in the cockpit. Gravity lifts could be set to different intensities, and he had used a low one to get her onboard. Was she going to last until he found help?

Was _he _going to last? He could feel that animal part of his mind slumbering underneath layers upon layers of well-built discipline and rationality. But it was closer to the surface than ever, like a dormant volcano turned active. Could he trust himself? Could he trust anything?

What defined animals from humans? What defined Brutes? Aggression, cruelty, power…but above all, passion. Passion for death, violence and cruelty, but passion nonetheless.

Some soldiers said that, to define man from animal, you only needed to look at control. Humans controlled their sexual drifts, their violent drifts and their cowardly drifts when the situation demanded discipline. Animals didn't do that. Brutes didn't do that.

And now, he too didn't do that. Did that make him an animal now? Was he a danger to people?

As long as he stayed close to Covenant soldiers he could rip apart, would it even matter?

_No,_ said the soldier inside of him. _Yes_, said what was left of the person inside of him. Maine took that as a maybe; as long as he focused all those bad things on the enemy, it wouldn't matter. But when he was around people he cared for, he couldn't have that.

But that wasn't very useful. What also wasn't useful, was flying a Phantom dropship towards a warzone where trigger-happy Marines would shoot him out of the sky. Friendly fire wasn't friendly and he couldn't risk getting shot at when he had such a delicate crew onboard. So he would have to dump the ship somewhere behind friendly lines, and then get to the battlefield. That was something he could do. Something he was good at. Trustworthy people could take responsibility for keeping Daenlith away from death, and he could focus on doing what he did best.

Steering others towards death.

Maine hit the radio in his helmet and transmitted a single towards the nearest UNSC assets. "_This is Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven, does anybody read me?"_

He only had to repeat himself once before someone answered him through a badly garbled channel. But the powerful transmitters and receivers inside of his helmet filtered out the background noise and other traffic, and the result was a roughly-understandable call for help.

"_Spartan? This is First-Lieutenant Mason, acting CO of Surda's defensive forces. We are holding position west-north-west of Aberon, fending off a Covenant ground-invasion. Situation critical." _An explosion went off on the Lieutenant's side and for a moment, Maine thought that he had been nailed by enemy fire. But then he picked up right where he left off, without as much as a moment of hesitation. "_I have sight on three enemy Wraith tanks, and at least half a dozen Ghosts."_

"_I am approaching your location now. Be advised; I have commandeered an enemy Phantom, and will be approaching your position directly."_

"_Copy that."_ Again, not a second of hesitation. Odd, but not unwelcome. "_What is your ETA?"_

Covenant communication glyphs rolled over the screen –enemy pilots wanting to know his troop-cargo destination. There wasn't a response saying "Demon", so he simply ignored the transmissions. "_Ranging from five minutes to five seconds. Sierra out." _He cut the radio and tried to see if he had anything he could recognize as Surda's defensive line. He activated some sort of camera with a bluish tint –not purple, oddly enough- and got a good glance at the opposition for his troubles.

The odds were…not weighed in his favor, unfortunately. There were a hundred grunts, half a hundred Jackels and dozens of Brutes. Tanks, Ghosts…and a pair of Hunters.

The Spartan clenched his fists when he saw the hulking silhouettes. He had seen Hunters tearing humans limb from limb, and blasting holes the size of dinner-plates into their bodies with those Assault Cannons. If the Brutes had the allegiance of Hunters…the Varden was in trouble. Those would be his priority.

In the distance, a hundred meters beyond the slowly-advancing Covenant army, he saw the entrenched UNSC soldiers. Literally. They had dug trenches and reinforced them with portable cover, tripod-mounted machineguns and metal frames. There were Varden archers and crossbowmen hiding in the trenches as well, occasionally taking shots at Grunts or exposed Brutes with their armour taken out. Small groups of swordsmen were waiting next to Snipers in tactically-placed chokepoints, ready to attack any infantry rushing their position for a melee-brawl.

Smart. Brave.

Enemy Banshees broke off from their formations and targeted him with their plasma cannons. So much for blending in…

Maine aimed the nose-mounted cannon and returned fire, with much more effect than the Brute pilots. The heavy plasma-rounds carved straight through the Banshee hulls and turned them into molten slag. Their speed kept them going through the air for another few seconds, only to crash on the heads of some unfortunate Covenant soldiers.

Good enough for him. The Spartan kept the Phantom going straight over the heads of the hundreds of bloodthirsty enemy soldiers, towards the UNSC trenches. He had a plan, but it involved a lot of luck and precision… both of which he didn't really have right now.

* * *

The Beam Rifle shot narrowly missed Mason's head as the First Lieutenant dropped to the sandy ground of the trench, dragging a Varden soldier with him.

"Alright, it's time for a game of where-the-foxtrot-did-that-come-from," he told the obviously-shaken soldier. The man had a short beard and simple armour, and he looked like he wasn't much older than nineteen or so. "What's your name?"

"Roran," the soldier replied with a grimm expression on his face. "And what's a foxtrot?"

Roran 'Stronghammer', cousin of Eragon. Ah. "Something really nasty. Something that's going to blow of our heads if we don't take it out."

The Varden soldier looked up over the edge of the trench again, swore violently as multiple blasts of plasma sailed over his head, then dove back to the ground again. "Shite, you aren't kidding…what do you need me to do?"

"I need you to do what the Spartans call playing the 'rabbit'."

"Wait, you want me to do something the Spartan would do? That-"

"Seems crazy? Suicidal? Hmm…probably. Do you think Katrina will last long when the Covenant swarms through this land?"

Roran's mouth opened a centimeter, before his scowled and clenched his hands. "How do _you _know about her?"

Gotcha. Like telling zero-zero-seven that there would be an impending attack when they wanted him out of the way for a moment. "That's my little secret. Now are you going to do as I say?"

The man stared at him with a furious expression, before sighing and leaning back. "Fine. What do you need of me?"

"Get that alien's attention. Run around, poke your head out a little, give him something to shoot at."

"Sounds like fun," the soldier commented, before looking at Mason again. "Why don't you do that?"

The First Lieutenant raised his Battle Rifle and replied, "Because I will be making sure it doesn't actually take your head off. Unless you want to take the responsibility of covering thirty soldiers with this gun?"

Roran cursed again. "You better not mess this up."

"You probably won't find out if I do."

With the young-looking soldier scrambling around to the other side of the trench, Mason carefully looked up over the edge again. Proper procedures for taking out enemy snipers were relatively simple, actually. Get your ass to cover, pop smoke, triangle the SOB and take him out with saturate-bombings or other snipers.

He reached for the set of binoculars that he had been issued with and scanned the battlefield. Ghosts, Brutes, Hunters, all threats that could be dealt with using some hefty firepower. But a Jackel with a Beam Rifle was more dangerous to their current operation than any of those…the two insane Marines that had destroyed the Wraith using their Warthog had put a halt to the enemy advancements, but they had also gotten themselves shot up for. And wounded couldn't lay down covering fire if they were getting their heads blown off by snipers.

Roran climbed the outer edge of the trench and dove back inside, performing all kinds of crazy stunts to get the Jackel's attention. Mason had to admit that the kid had balls; he hadn't really expected the guy to follow his orders like that. Eragon the Rider's older brother…cousin actually, but whatever…such connections could be very valuable. Especially so considering the fact that they still needed to learn whatever they could about magic.

And what the hell, kids needed to stick together. Eragon wouldn't get himself killed, but Roran? He had that crazy ODST thing about him. War could drive everybody to desperation, but such soldiers were about as useful as a Frag without a pin. An asset like him could easily get himself killed, and it would be such a shame if that were to transpire.

And Mason wasn't entirely unfamiliar with soldiers pulling stunts that could be deemed suicidal. Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven was easily one of the crazier of the Spartans. Every Secret-Spartan walked the slipper-slope bordering sanity and insanity, and "Maine" had fallen off that line a long time ago. Nobody wanted an unstable Spartan aboard the ship, and the sod was about as unstable as a Zealot with its sword-hand sliced off. Alagaesia hadn't been much better for him, too. That dragon-bond business was only going to get in their way…and if the Spartan was going to cause a problem, it would up to _him _to take care of it. Him. Whatever.

A Phantom dropship flew overhead, circling around the army. Nobody opened fire, and for a brief moment he wondered why. Then he remembered the "crazy and suicidal" thing and focused his attention on the enemy again. Just in time.

A purple lance of beam erupted from the ranks of the Covenant army and impacted on a small patch of sand an inch away from where Roran's head had been at that moment. The beam of ionized particles existed only for half a second before it turned the impacted area into a small patch of smoking glass.

In that half second, Mason dialed in on the location of the sniper, grabbed his Battle Rifle and fired off a salvo. The trio of rounds tore right through the creature's skull, and it dropped its weapon. Nobody rushed to pick it up again.

"Open fire!" he yelled, signaling that the sniper was down. With that threat out of the way, the thirty or so soldiers that had made it to Rally-point Omega unleashed a hellish blanket of fire, halting the Covenant forces that had been steadily advancing up to that point. Assault Rifle bullets wore down shields and armour and shredded exposed flesh, Sniper rounds took out the drivers of the various Ghosts and rockets impacted on one of the Hunters, blowing it to meaty bits.

The second Hunter roared and rage and dropped into a low sprint, rushing towards the defending lines with more speed than should be fitting with such a bulky creature.

The First Lieutenant scrambled for the Spartan Laser, dropping his other rifle in his haste. He had seen enraged Hunters tear apart groups of battle-hardened OSDT's like it was nothing. If that thing reached the lines, it would break through immediately.

But the distance between him and the Hunter was too small –a mere twenty feet separated him from the bloodthirsty juggernaut, and the Laser would need more time to charge up than the Hunter needed to cross that distance and rip him a new one. The four soldiers armed with crossbows and swords hunching down next to him couldn't change that, and neither could his grenades.

Dodge? No, the Hunter would easily shift directions. Jump? Too high…he would never make it.

Mason was about to call a retreat when something dark sailed over his head, pelting him with grains of sand and pieces of rock. A dark figure crashed into the Hunter, attaching itself to its upper torso.

The large Covenant soldier roared in rage and thrashed around, and the figure –which Mason had identified as a Spartan- flew off. Controlled, elegant, like it was nothing. The Spartan backflipped off and landed on the ground, and a second later the Hunter exploded. Its yellow-orange flesh erupted from the inside-out and sent splatters of gore everywhere. Mason ducked low and dodged most of it, but the Varden soldier next to him got the full load.

"It's all over me," he complained, but his buddy punched him on his shoulder, a big grin on his face.

"Quit yapping. You're about to something really good."

"What-?"

The Spartan raised himself again and watched the Covenant army approaching their distance for a brief moment, slowly pulling out a Shotgun. It seemed he had found a small flair for dramatic entrances, kicking a Hunter in its non-existing face and blowing it apart with a grenade just to get their attention.

Roran found his way back to Mason and grunted. "Got the bastard?"

"Of course. Now sit down and take this rifle-" he handed the kid a discarded Assault Rifle, which he had plucked from the wounded body of the Warthog-driving Corporal. "You can relax, by the way."

Zero-zero-seven cocked his shotgun, discarded an empty shell and went to work. Mason had heard that soldiers would fight with new vigor and courage wherever a Spartan showed up, and he had never really understood why that was until right about now. Seeing a seven-foot-tall soldier sprint towards an entire Covenant army all on his own, armed with nothing but a Shotgun and what appeared to be a simple Assault Rifle, was nothing short of miraculous. UNSC and Varden soldiers alike cheered and screamed and rushed towards the buckling lines, firing their guns all the way.

But Mason had to suppress that small sensation of relief. If the Spartan had showed up here, it meant a position somewhere else had buckled. Where was Eragon? Arya? The soldiers they had taken with them? Were they dead, or had they separated? What was the situation at the coast and _why _had they separated?

The super-soldier was an issued challenge to all Brutes present in this fight. Grunts lost their courage, Jackels hesitated and brought their shields to bear, exposing their vulnerable flanks, and all Ghosts focused their fire on the lone figure that had dared to encroach on their location.

And the Spartan replied in kind. Mason could barely follow everything that happened, but the very first act involved the soldier grabbing a Jackel, killing it with one hand and using its shield to defend himself against the initial barrage of Plasma. He then jumped out of the way of a Ghost, latched onto the vehicle and crushed the skull of the driver with an armoured boot. Then, he jumped off again, and opened fire with his rifle. Grunts toppled, Jackels fell and a Brute clutched the new collection of holes in its face.

Mason shoved the Spartan Laser to the wounded Sergeant he had plucked from the sand. "Banshees, fast and low."

The tough soldier gritted his teeth and accepted the heavy weapon. "Sir."

Marines poured into the first trench, preparing to follow-up on the Spartan. The Varden soldiers that had once been useless in the exchange of fire jumped to their feet and stepped up, eager to finally enact their revenge.

Mason grabbed two SMG's and looked back at Roran. "Safety's on kid. Pull the pin there, and keep the barrel low until you see something that needs shooting." He could feel a rush of epinephrine, even though this was hardly the most daring Operation of his life. Still, rushing Covenant lines instead of the other way around had a charm on its own.

The Spartan bounced a grenade off of the shield of a Jackel and finally confronted the rushing Brutes. He spun around to dodge a hail of incoming Spikes and shot the nearest one in the face with his shotgun, nearly taking its head off. He cocked the weapon, twisted around and shot a second one. Cock, turn, a third. A fourth. A fifth.

One of the Brutes came too close and the soldier promptly dove underneath its legs, kicked it away and popped its head with another shot. A seventh one swung a Brute Shot at him, but he cleanly missed, and his head caught a hail of buck as well. It happened so fast, and there were so many of them. In the span of four seconds, nine brutes lay dead at the feet of a blood-covered Spartan.

Sand crumbled underneath Mason's feet as he jumped over the trench, followed by at least seven well-armed Marines and twenty Varden soldiers. It appeared that he was now leading this little push.

Did it matter that the UNSC never got to do real pushes like these?

"Get the bastards!" Someone shouted, and suddenly everyone was charging towards the Covenant ground forces. Most UNSC forces at the back were smart enough to stay put, but they couldn't cover their comrades in arms now. This really wasn't the smartest decision ever made.

Up ahead, the Spartan had somehow chewed through all of his Shotgun-ammo in one go. He had acquired a Plasma rifle in the meantime, and he was tearing through the enemy ranks faster than they could aim at him. The occasional Plasma bolt impacted on his shields, but most of the times he managed to weave out of the way.

And then their group was upon the enemy forces, and Mason stopped concentrating on things that weren't important. He pulled the trigger on his left SMG and shot a trio of Grunts that was running towards them. A loud and ferocious scream to the right got his attention, and he automatically targeted the Needler-bearing Jackel. Most of the rounds ricocheted off of its shield and into the air, but the creature still had to turn to track him. That was when a sword-bearing swordsman stabbed it in the back, before being told by his comrade to take the "Pink crossbow".

They were carving a path straight into the enemy army, and they were still living. And breathing. Why was that? Where were the enemy reinforcements?

The answer presented itself in the form of a squadron of Banshees. They descended from the clouded sky and swept over their forces before they could be targeted by the dug-in Warthogs that were keeping an eye on their flanks. Plasma bolts erupted from their frames and four Varden infantrymen fell to the ground, together with one Marine.

Mason didn't stop to see if they got up again. He aimed his SMG's at the nearest Banshee, waited until it got closer, then riddled it with bullets. The small, caseless projectiles ripped through its chassis and smoke enveloped the vehicle. It still escaped his fire though, as the recoil of twin-SMG's was too much for even him to handle.

Luckily, one of the other Marines managed to score a direct hit with his Battle Rifle, and the three-burst rifle made quick work of the damaged Banshee. It crashed into the ground, burning and smoking, and the defenders from the trenches opened fire on the remainders.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. There were too little Covenant soldiers –there was no way that this was it. Something else was going on, something much, much worse.

First Lieutenant Mason broke off from the rest of the ground-forces and circled around to the left. There had only been one or two Wraiths, too little fliers…not even one Scarab. Why was this so easy?

He whipped out his binoculars and scanned the battlefield, gaining distance as he went. He could clearly see the Marines and Varden soldiers clashing with the Covenant soldiers, where another Ghost intended to ram the group.

Seven jumped in front of it at the last time and stuck out his arm. The Grunt that sat inside of the reconnaissance-vehicle rammed face-first into the armoured appendage and tumbled to the ground, obviously dead. One of the Marines commandeered the vehicle, as many had learned to do during the war.

Valuable pieces of tech, those Ghosts. Their light plasma-cannons could tear through shields and armour alike, and one could easily whittle down a Spartan that didn't pay attention. Of course, Spartans always paid attention. According to the books.

He gazed towards the north-west, where the Covenant had come from, and sighed with frustration. Of course. Things could never ever be simple once, could they?

Mason reached for his radio-communicator. "_This is First Lieutenant Mason. Redirect rally-point Omega to Aberon itself, this line is about to be overrun, over."_

It didn't take long for the Second Lieutenant to reply. "_We've already got element coming in, Mason. Want me to redirect them as well?"_

Silhouettes became visible at the edge of the dessert, roughly a kilometer away. Rather large figures. And closer, a few hundred meters away and advancing. "_Consider this an order from your acting-CO, Riley. How are our "leaders"?"_

"_Still safe. Why?"_

"_They are going to die unless they have ample forces defending them. I see a large army moving towards our position."_

The Second Lieutenant quickly caught up. "_And stray units would be caught in a death-trap, right? Let me see what I can do."_

He grunted and cut the communication. Then he hit the global transmission for the UNSC forces in Surda. He hated having to act this high-profile. "_All UNSC assets, be advised, Covenant army massing towards the North-east, coordinates unavailable. Probable Scarab. Recommend regrouping at the Fantasy-setting."_

He left out his name and credentials in case the covvies were listening in. They didn't need to know where they were going to regroup, even though it was more like the Sangheili to eavesdrop and sabotage than the Jiralhanae.

The results were…mixed. While Mason made his way back towards the main bulk of the group, where most of the Covenant forces were already eliminated, he could see Marines stopping in their tracks and staring at each other. Varden soldiers were picking up Covenant weapons and ordnance, reluctantly dropping their own weapons in the process, but they didn't look like they really understood what was going on.

Nothing new there.

"Come on people," he said, "time to move. Where's Roran? Good. Stick around. Spartan, what do you recommend-?"

He turned towards the super-soldier, but it didn't take an idiot to figure out that he wasn't listening. The Spartan was holding his battered Assault Rifle in his arms, staring at the distance, where he could undoubtedly see the approaching forces.

"Change of plans," Mason then said. "Roran, take these men and women back to the capital."

Whether the boy heard him or not didn't matter. He just didn't want anyone to see what was going to follow. With the enemy this close, every second counted.

And right now, the psychotic armoured idiot was wasting precious time. _His _precious time.

"Spartan!" Mason snapped when the rest of the Marines were fully falling back. "You're not going to stay here. You're coming back with the rest of us mortals."

"You're not going to stop me," the soldier replied with that underdeveloped voice. The threat was about as subtle as a Brute's.

"I don't need to stop you," Mason replied in kind. His mind raced to process why the Spartan would want to stay back here and die. It could be that the lack of medicine for Wren's ploy was finally taking its toll, and that he was succumbing to the mental regression. But his behavior was too controlled, too…human. He was fighting with a purpose here. Why? Staying behind would get him killed, and he couldn't have that. He wasn't truly suicidal yet, and neither had he lost-

-wait, was that it?

"Where is the dragon?"

"Safe."

That could be a lie. The bond was too thorough; if the dragon died, it would snap the soldier's already fragile psyche in half. But…why else? What else did he have that could be so important to waste his life for?

"She won't be if you die here. Nobody you know would be safe. The Covenant won't stop at the Varden…not at the elves…and not at her."

"Then I won't die."

Mason clenched his teeth and pressed his glasses up higher. This was why he hated these toy-soldiers. With slow, deliberate words, he said, "No, you won't. Because you are going to come with me, and help us fight off this fucking invasion." How was he going to resolve this? He couldn't win in a fight, because the MJOLNIR gave the Spartan too many advantages. Logic wouldn't work either.

"Take the dropship back to Aberon. I'll meet you there in a day."

Dropship…the party…his dragon was still alive, so the situation hadn't been dire enough for it to have been shot out of the sky. So the rest of the group was also still alive…and the semblance of humanity that was left in the Spartan had fallen for one of the natives. That one had to be alive as well…but in danger, otherwise he wouldn't choose to stay behind like this.

Long-term versus short-term. Easy pick. "Unless you come with us, that Dropship won't make it." He made sure to counter the threatening tone that the Spartan had used himself.

And seven noticed it. He turned around halfway, and said, "What do you want?"

"I want you with us. And I'll do anything to make that happen. One life for thirty?"

"That's…not going to happen."

Mason crossed his arms. "You're not the only one who gets to make these 'sacrifice' calls. If you don't come with us, lots of people die. It's simple, really."

For a brief moment, he thought that seven would smash his head in then and there. But after a few nervous seconds, the big guy stood down. "The Covenant is here in force. The last thing I need…is people getting in my way."

What a surprise. "And the last thing we need, is you losing your focus. You can do whatever you want as soon as we get reinforcements."

He didn't reply to that anymore, thankfully. But if the Secret-Spartan kept these antics up…ONI's plans would need to be accelerated. And nobody would want that, right?


	33. Fall of ages pt I

**UNSC established network -ONLINE -current position: Aberon. **

"Elva!" Nasuada cried, looking around the cavernous barracks for the silver-haired girl. "Where are you?"

Of course, there was no reply. The witch-child was as enigmatic as the alien hordes plaguing their country. Orrin had been _furious _when he had learnt of the enemy pressing into his country and he had prepared to lead a force to destroy the "off-worlders". Nasuada had made sure that his orders had been rescinded _at once_; the last thing she needed was the king of Surda sending hundreds of men to die a senseless death.

He had not been amused about that.

"Do we really need the child, lady?" the woman known as Second Lieutenant Riley commented. Her skeptical look was enough for Nasuada to conclude that, despite all their joint operations, the UNSC was still not satisfies with the Varden's armed forces.

She could relate. "Her clairvoyance grants her unique abilities, Lieutenant. She will be invaluable in the coming conflict."

"Well, make it quick then. We've got a new deadline to follow."

Deadline. A dead line? Line of the dead? Another word that she was not familiar with. The overly militarized culture of the UNSC still did not make sense to her, even with all the time she had spent around the likes of Spartan. There were too many cultures and rituals to keep track of to understand every single linguistic manner posed to her. "I was hoping she would be here…"

"I still don't get how a child could help us fight our enemy."

Neither did Nasuada. She only knew that this war had the habit of pressing children into the arms of fate, which then proceeded to turn them into warriors. Eragon, Elva. Herself.

"Were you searching for me, my lady?"

She gave a cry of alarm at the sudden voice and nearly stumbled against a table that had been standing too close. Lieutenant Riley cursed and whirled around, pulling a gun out of her holster. A long-haired woman was sitting on one of the support-beams, eerily swinging with her legs. Her silver hair reached to her waist and her purple eyes were filled with so many puzzling geometries that there was no doubt about her identity.

"Elva?" Nasuada whispered, her voice sounding like a meager whisper, devoid of strength and filled with doubt.

The girl's near-condescending features didn't change at all, even though she must have experienced a great deal of change in the past months. She didn't look like a young child anymore. She had taken the appearance of a young woman, well into her way development towards a woman. Nothing about her was reminiscent of how she had been once been as an innocent child. Eyes like cold, steel orbs, reflecting a calm storm to come. Her limbs slender, pale and seemingly harmless. She disturbed Nasuada greater than Spartan had ever done before. Him, at least, she could comprehend.

"That ain't a girl, lady," the Lieutenant snapped, never taking her eyes off of the witch-child.

And Elva did not bother to even cast a glance at her. "Did you have need of my services?"

Nasuada could only nod to confirm the child's suspicions. "I did…we need to get the castle into fighting condition. The enemy has arrived."

"The Covenant," Elva said with a nigh-monotone voice, not even blinking at the news.

How did she know that? Had she been around when the term had been used? Why had she changed _this _much?

Just what was Elva? And what would she become? "Indeed. They are coming for us all. Their army approaches us from the west."

"And Spartan cannot stop his ancient enemy?"

Nasuada could nearly feel Lieutenant Riley growing tenser and tenser. She knew what the witch-child was doing and she would not stand for it. "Miss Riley…could you leave us?"

The soldier did not move. "Are you certain?"

Why didn't she just lower her gun? "Yes, I am. There is no threat here. You can rejoin us outside if you wish."

For a few moments, the woman did nothing to indicate that she was willing to show common sense. Had she been any other UNSC soldier, she might have showed it at all. But in the end she holstered her gun and said, "I'll be outside. Just be careful."

Nasuada cringed at the lack of trust. Truthfully, she did not trust Elva either. Perhaps nobody did. Hardships could make for very difficult persons and she was one of the most difficult ones around. But she did _not _want to make an enemy out of the girl.

As soon as the Lieutenant left, Nasuada sighed and sat down on the nearest table. "You cannot say such things, Elva. Especially not near the UNSC. You cannot even know such things."

"They shall find their way here," the girl continued. "And everybody is going to die."

Dread clutched at Nasuada's chest upon hearing those words and she felt her mouth slowly falling open. But she had to regain her composure; any form of weakness in front of Elva would be her undoing. Hers and the Varden's. "What happened to you, Elva?"

Finally the child blinked. "That is irrelevant. As soon as Spartan fails, Surda will fall."

Nasuada banged the palm of her right hand onto the table in a fit of frustration. The sudden noise elevated her heartbeat and only served to increase the feeling of helplessness she felt. "He will NOT fail! The Starborn shall stand victorious, as they have in the past!"

"Only they did not stand victorious. They _lay_, battered and exhausted, until a civil war ravaged their enemy. Their victory was a _fluke_."

"Do cannot know that!" Nasuada snapped. "What are you doing, Elva? We are fighting for the future of our _world_ today!"

"Are we? What future do we gain, if we prevail? Which road will we follow if we survive?"

"That is not important. We will never know that if we do not survive today. Spartan shall lead a counter-attack on the Covenant forces, following his Art of War to do what he does best."

"What he does best, you say?"

"Yes!" Nasuada exclaimed, her exhaustion slowly creeping up on her. "Defeating his enemy!"

"Your Spartan would have crushed the Varden like an insect underneath his boot had the circumstances been slightly different. He is not a man, able to make his own choices. He is not a predator, choosing his prey and taking only what must be taken. He is a weapon, chained to fake ideals and thoughts. A tool, a machine to sic on the foes of those who control him. He was _made _to crush the rebels against his people." Elva stopped, suddenly smiling. It was even more disturbing than seeing her face completely impassive and emotionless –and she smile never met her eyes. "And I know his name."

Nasuada could feel her heart skipping a beat. "H-his name?"

"Did you believe that he was truly called Spartan? Are _you _called human?"

"No…I suppose not…"

Finally her smile met her eyes and the creeping sensation of wrongness reached a fever pitch. "Those who ran before sought desperate measures to stop their war. To stop the suffering…to stop the _pain _and _misery_."

"Elva…which name did you mean?"

"The way I see it, none of this will end. If the Covenant disappears, the Varden and the Empire will continue to clash with each other, creating more pain. More suffering. A war like this will not end."

Nasuada slowly stood, realizing that there was much more danger than she could have possibly imagined. "Where is Angela? The herbalist would keep an eye on you during the fighting."

"Desperate measures must be taken to stop this war. They ended their bloodshed with a weapon of mass destruction…who are we to stray away from their path?"

"Elva, I demand you tell me what you are talking about!"

The witch-child lowered herself from the support-beams with more elegancy than someone with her age should possess in the body of a teen, landing on the ground without even creasing the folds of her black dress. "These barrack are located on the first floor of this castle…mere meters above the ground." She turned to face Nasuada directly. "Consider this my final warning, lady. Step aside."

Elva was threatening her. She would be a terrible enemy to have…but Nasuada had her duty. She would not stray away from it. "No." Where would she even go? The door was to their side, not behind her. Why-

The wall behind her exploded as something massive smashed through it. Heat and shockwaves pelted her body and the entire room burst into smoke. A solid, ruined piece of metal had smashed its way through the wall and obliterated the entire barracks, missing both of them by mere inches. Nasuada could see the purple wreck sticking out of the far wall, burning with bright-blue fire as if it had fallen form the heavens itself.

The door was thrown open and Lieutenant Riley barged inside with her gun at the ready. She glanced around the room and spotted Nasuada lying on the ground, half-covered with pieces of wood and debris.

The soldier muttered something under her breath and rushed towards her, wasting no time in getting to work. "Jesus Christ, what happened? Is that a Banshee?"

Nausada shook her head to try and clear the blurriness that was plaguing her vision. Her body hurt all over, but she had endured worse in her past. "Where is Elva?"

"That girl? She's not here." Riley helped her upright and eyed the purple wreckage once more. "Looks like the fighting started already. I guess the damn thing crashed through the wall when it got shot down. You're lucky it didn't splatter you."

"Where is Elva?" Nasuada urged the Starborn. "Is she still here?"

Riley looked around for a few seconds. "She's not here. There's a big hole in the wall; you don't think she jumped-?"

Nasuada forgot her manners and uttered a string of old dwarfish curses. What was that foolish creature up to? What had she been talking about, with her madness about old ones and Spartan? Had the forced empathy finally damaged her sanity? This shouldn't have _happened!_ What was she going to do now? "War is upon us, Lieutenant. Go to your people and do what you must to stop this insanity! The Covenant _must _be stopped at all costs!"

"I had about the same thing in mind. Remember; the modern leader does not risk their life on the battlefield. Stay alive, keep your head down."

"Yes, I know. Please leave me now…I have matters to attend to."

Riley nodded, checked the room once more, then turned around and left. Nasuada was left alone in the ruined barracks, with only the crashed "Banshee" to keep her company. That and perhaps the dead body sealed away inside of it.

What would she do now? What had caused Elva to crack like that? The extraordinarily-fast growth, or the idea of the Covenant? She had been talking about ending the conflict…what had she felt or experienced to go off like that?

Nasuada had no choice but to banish that line of thought. She needed to focus on what lay at hand; the defense of Surda, the survival of the Varden and the evacuation of the civilians. There was a meeting regarding the tactics and plans for this conflict and she had really wanted to have Elva with her there…but that was no option now anymore.

She sighed and tore her gaze away from the large opening in the wall from which Elva had jumped out of. What had she planned?

* * *

The gathered group of commanders and soldiers took a few hasty steps backwards when two large Marines dumped the alien bodies on the specially-prepared tables, taking notice of the stench and the blood dripping out of them.

"If I could have your attention please," First Lieutenant Mason calmly said, watching the crowd with trained interest. "Calm down, they're all dead. Yes, even the ugly ones. Specialist Takeo?"

The stoic Specialist scraped his throat and took a step towards the table. His eyes flickered towards the assembled mob, which included the local king and several dwarves, then went back the Covenant bodies. He scraped his throat again, looked at the Spartan standing in the dark corner, and then quietly said, "Sergeant Wilks, if you will?"

The stocky soldier grunted in acknowledgement and walked towards the table. He was shorter than the other Sergeant, but equally as heavy. All muscles though. "Sierra one-one-seven took the liberty of gathering several bodies for this meeting. Before we go through the tactics necessary for victory, we will first inform you about the foe you will be fighting. Bryce, your turn."

Maine raised a skeptical eyebrow upon seeing the supposedly-veteran Marines switch our like exhausted guards at a remote rebel outpost. Why didn't they just stick with one speaker? Didn't they know how to explain this all?

The tall Staff Sergeant crossed his arms and stepped towards the first table, where the dead body of the Grunt had been nailed down. They were standing on an elevated platform in the middle of Aberon, where only soldiers remained. All civilians were being evacuated to the east. "Our enemy is the Covenant; a collection of aliens species with only one intention in their lives: the total annihilation of mankind. This includes dwarf-kind, elf-kind and even…urgal-kind."

Some of the gathered urgals roared with indignity upon hearing the threat to their entire species. At least they were easy to motivate.

"Now if this doesn't motivate you enough, imagine the following. The Covenant soldiers are going to spread through this city, slaughter every last man, woman and child they find. Then they raze all the buildings to the ground. And _then_ they pour salt and poison and all other sorts of nasty stuff to render the very _ground _the city stood on utterly unlivable for the next fifty-nine generations. They will do this to Aberon…then to Surda…then to Alagaesia…and then to the entire world."

The crowd of soldiers was dead silent. Every man and woman stared at the corpses that had been nailed, tied or otherwise fastened to the wooden frames with haunted, shocked expressions. If the few scattered Banshees attacking them weren't enough to scare them straight, this was.

"Luckily, we are going to stand in their way. We aren't with enough soldiers to stop them. Not everybody made it to the castle in time. This is where all of _you _enter. You are going to help us stop the Covenant."

As usual, the Staff Sergeant paused to let it sink in. Some soldiers cried out or otherwise cheered, but they were few and scattered. Perhaps the speech worked too well?

"Now then. This thing here-" he pointed at the image of the Grunt and Specialist Takeo reached for a large, salvaged piece of technology. He placed down one silvery orb which started scanning the Grunt, while the First Lieutenant placed the larger orb at the far side of the three meters attached to it somewhere near the crowd. He pressed a button and a large hologram appeared, displaying the dead alien at least four times bigger than it truly was. "-we call Grunts. They are the main foot-soldiers of the Covenant. They don't look so threatening, do they? Except that they come at you with thousands at the same time, until your sword-arms are exhausted, your arrows are gone and your ammo is spent. And guess what? These ones carry guns as well. They may not be good shots, but if you take a round to the chest or the head, you won't be fighting them anymore."

A whisper ran through the crowd as the soldiers realized what they were up against. Maine, being born long after the war started, had grown up with tales of monsters slaughtering entire planets at once. He had had a lifetime to get used to the circumstances of the war, while these people…they were used to simple warfare with spears and swords. They weren't ready for this; they couldn't possibly be. How was Bryce going to convince scared people to fight a merciless foe they couldn't possibly defeat?

"These fellows are easy to kill with a good stab or accurate bow. The next ones…" the holographic image of the Grunt disappeared and was replaced by one of a Jackel, which had been stabbed through the throat by a brave Varden foot soldier. "…we call Jackels. Special troops outfitted with long-distance rifles, or energy shields. If you encounter them, it is because of two reasons. Either you saw a big-ass glowing shield, or one of your buddies fell to the ground with a smoking hole in his head. Listen to me when I say you need to _flank _these guys; attack them in the sides, or from the rear. Their shields _will _block everything you throw at them, with the possible exception of a Spartan-guided fist. "

Again, a break to let it sink in. Where was he getting at? "Jackels have the same weapons as Grunts, and they are even easier to kill without their shield. Don't let that fool you though; they have been reported to eat the few people still alive in a Covenant invasion. Think the Ra'zac are scary? Think again. And then there are _these _guys…"

Takeo pressed the button again and the Jackel was replaced by a Brute. Maine recognized it as one of the Brutes he had killed with close-combat; he had shattered the bones in its neck with a well-placed elbow-strike before sticking a knife in its eye-socket, penetrating the brain. It made for a rather intact yet odd corpse. "These guys we call Brutes. They are the current leaders of the Covenant. If you see one, gang up and kill it, because these things will ruin your day. They are built like a dragon and carry about the same firepower. Any Kull in the audience?"

Some urgals and Kull roared and growled in acknowledgement to being called out. They seemed to like being in the spotlight.

"Good. Because you have met your match. Brutes are stronger than you, faster than you, more _resistant _than you. To top it off, they are better armed."

That was a mistake. Every single urgal in the vicinity –which were a hundred at the bare minimum- started roaring and screaming in protest. Why did the Sergeant insult an entire species?

"No? You disagree? Prove me wrong in the coming fight then! Stay alive and you are _better _than the Brutes!"

The screaming of indignity and anger completely turned around and became roars of challenge and defiance to the enemy, all the while Bryce smirked in satisfaction. Reverse psychology? Rile them with a challenge? Smart.

"We have been fighting these alien bastards for twenty-eight years now and we will continue to do so for another hundred years if necessary. You think Galbatorix taking over is bad? Wait until _these _things get close to your loved ones. Of course, they are not going to GET close to your loved ones, because YOU will be standing in their way!"

More men started cheering and Maine could see some dwarves joining in as well. When news of the Covenant attack had spread, they had made Surda the defending fortress to keep the enemy at bay. Varden soldiers, UNSC assets and dwarf infantry had all made their way to the capital and more were pouring in every hour, but it just wasn't enough. It seemed that the Covenant was content to just march over to their city and flatten it with firepower, because they hadn't brought in their ships yet.

But they had brought something else.

Staff Sergeant Bryce gave the word to First and Second Lieutenants Mason and Riley, who were working together with Ajihad and Hrothgar to organize the hundreds of Varden and dwarf soldiers into an effective taskforce powerful enough to oppose the enemy. Their situation wasn't optimal as of now; the Covenant was here in force and they had superior numbers, firepower and air presence.

That didn't have to mean that the UNSC couldn't fight back, however. They still had the stolen Phantom dropship with them and that one would level the odds considerably, as it could lay down some impressive firepower. A few Pelican dropships had arrived as well, giving them moderate cover against all of the Banshees swarming around. Some of the Pelicans had dropped lost soldiers and equipment, others had brought in supplies. There were two Scorpion Main Battle Tanks and seven Warthog LRV's, plus one Mongoose.

For all the good that would do them. At least the Varden soldiers had been sensible enough to gather any and all discarded weapons they could find, which had increased their chances as well. Their total number was an estimated five-hundred soldiers, which included fifty UNSC soldiers and two-hundred dwarves. One gun every five soldiers, including the Covenant tech.

The odds weren't in their favor. They were currently screening for soldiers who could possibly hold the UNSC firearms and use them effectively, while the Marines would hold on to the plasma weaponry. The rest would be armed with spears and swords and, for the Brutes, maces and axes. The Officers were handling this with every tactic they could muster, as the most important rule of warfare –deception- no longer worked here. So they would have to do with splitting the Covenant forces up and destroying their groups one by one.

The Winter-war had come to the Spartan's mind. Talvisota; Stalin's superior forces outmatched by the superior guerilla warfare of the…the...Polish? No, attacked by Nazi Germany, beaten by Wehrmacht. Name was irrelevant.

He shook his head, unsuccessfully trying to shake away the fever and the headache. His body was itching for action. He wanted to seek out the Covenant and attack. Shoot, stab, break, kill. It would be so easy to go on a killing frenzy…but he couldn't do that. Mason had been very clear; he was to stay here and help fight off the Covenant. That was his order.

No. Not his order. Threat. A threat. Stay with the UNSC and the people he cared for would be safe. The ONI Operative had threatened him. Nobody had ever threatened him since he had donned his MJOLNIR, all those years ago. He didn't know how to deal with that anymore; his head hurt, his temperature was too high according to his bio-regulation and his heartrate was irregular now. The last thing he wanted to do was slip up and get someone hurt and he didn't _want _someone to get hurt. He wanted Daenlith to remain alive and unhurt. She had finally received the medical help she would need to not die, but the damage had already been done. A minor infection had set in and she too had a fever. At least the scars weren't that much worse than the ones that actual medical attention would have caused her.

He needed someone to talk to. The mass of soldiers was too much of a distraction; he needed somewhere more quiet to straighten his thoughts. A discreet alley, or a calm building. There were a few other Marines standing on guard, but those were of no consequances.

He was just about to contact Aeraleth and ask her how she was doing when he heard something moving directly behind him. A slimy, slithering sound, inhuman.

The Spartan whirled around and pulled out his combat-knife. There was something dark and black standing in the alley behind him, garbed in a black cloak. A hunched figure. Ra'zac.

His combat reflexes kicked in, temporarily drowning out the urge for violence with pure clarity. Adrenaline and other hormones flowed through his system and he closed the distance between himself and the enemy within half a second.

The creature shouted something and the Spartan had already lifted him in the air with one hand to deliver a mortal stab to its throat with his knife when he processed what it was.

"Wait! I am ally!" the creature hissed with its distorted voice.

The Ra'zac were enemies; they needed to be neutralized.

But it could not have entered the city without actually having an ally. It could be worth listening to it.

No! It was a danger, it needed to go!

With a growl of frustration, Maine dumped the creature to the ground, whereupon he placed his boot on its chest and leant backwards to prevent crushing its chest. "Talk."

"I am ally of the lady…known to you…"Raia"."

Raia? She worked with the Ra'zac? Actually, that didn't surprise him a lot. She was an enigmatic figure, with a wide range of interests and…could they be called hobbies? She did have her own things. If she wanted to be allies with a Ra'zac, it wouldn't clash with her personality.

Did this thing speak the truth though?

"Can you prove that?" he demanded.

"Would I sssstill be alive otherwissssse?"

Would it still be alive had it found out Raia's name? Probably not. "What do you want?"

"Duty, Ssssspartan. As you mussssst do yoursssss. Ssssshe went to "Nia", a sssssmall town near the coassssst."

No. "How long ago?"

"When the sssssky first opened."

At the first attack. Many hours ago. At the same time the Covenant hit Feinster. That had been during the night, it was already day now! "Is she still there? Is she hurt?"

"That I do not know. But ssssshe did not return yet…ssssshe would have by now."

Goddamn it! Why? Why would she leave on her own? What could possibly be so important for her to leave all by herself?

He removed his boot from the creature's chest and hauled it upright. He needed to find her and get her out of there; the entire coast had been wiped out! She wouldn't die simply, but if she took an unlucky shot to the chest…it would be the end of her.

But he couldn't get to her! He needed to fight off the Covenant and prevent the UNSC from getting overrun, all the while making sure Daenlith wouldn't get in trouble. The castle was about the safest building they had, but as soon as the Covenant would start getting their wraiths in position, it would be gone within seconds. That was why they had placed all their wounded in several of the smaller, fortified buildings that wouldn't be noticed as easily. But those could be overrun with infantry.

The Spartan turned around to leave, but heard the soft scraping of clothes against stone. He cursed himself for his utter lack of vigilance and caution and moved around the corner, where a marine was standing. His HUD identified him as Corporal Hudson, one of Wren's original crewmembers. He had a thick scar on his throat and a serious expression on his face.

"She's in trouble?" he asked.

Why did _everyone _know Raia? What had she been up to in her spare time? "Get back to your post soldier."

"It's the Shade, right sir? If we find her, she can help us defend this city."

Corporal Hudson, whose life had been saved by Raia. Now he understood. "She's all way at the coast. You'll never make it on foot…and the vehicles are too valuable to use."

"All the vehicles, sir?"

Approximately three minutes later, Maine watched Corporal Hudson commandeer the Mongoose for a recon mission to the west. He was armed with nothing more than a Plasma Rifle, enough for four-hundred shots. One less Marine to defend the city. But if it meant finding Raia, it was worth it.

At least…was it worth it? She could be dead, or she could have reappeared somewhere else after another "death". There were a dozen reasons for him to have stopped the Corporal from leaving…except that he hadn't. Was it worth it to weight a dozen reasons against one and then discard the dozen? Was this the same as choosing to make a sacrifice, but then the other way around? He had done it once before, so he could do it again.

But if he sacrificed too much, he would end up with nothing left. Again. He had others he cared about now –he wasn't going to let them die. He was going to fight for them. Following that reasoning, this was not a mistake. This was something worthwhile.

Maine climbed the walls surrounding the capital-city and glanced at the approaching army again. It wasn't like the Covenant to just send in ground troops for a long march. Even though that march was just a few miles, it didn't make sense. The rules changed so often that they weren't rules anymore. '_Aeraleth? Are you alright?'_

His bonded partner was quick to reply. Despite the distance separating them, they enjoyed a state of constant contact with each other. Superficially, but present. '_I remain unhurt.'_

Less words once more? Fine. '_Seen anything new?'_

'_No, though I wonder at Thorn's location.'_

Thorn? The red dragon belonging to Murtagh? A good question; where _was _the dragon? People had claimed they had seen Murtagh around in the city, but seeing as dragons would get shot down in an instant when they appeared, they would have to stay away until all anti-air units were dead and gone.

'_He'll show up.'_

Aeraleth flashed him a sensation of curiosity and worry, which he had no problem translating for himself. '_I'm fine. There is only one problem.'_

He could feel her worry increasing in intensity, as well as her agitation. '_What?'_

'_Scarab.'_

The single word sent ripples across their mental link like a drop of water in a still pond, echoing through the mindscape with more force than it should possess. But the Spartan knew why; he had shown his partner-of-heart memories of battles fought in the past against the giant walkers. She had grown to fear them for their seemingly-unstoppable weapons and invincible armour. The thought that there was something so many times more powerful than even a dragon –Aeraleth's definition of an apex predator- was just frightening to her. The truth was that every single Covenant weapon except for maybe the Needler had enough firepower to significantly maim her, but she didn't want to believe that. But the memories of seeing a Scarab in action, as vague as they had been, had been enough to send her into a fit of stress and anxiety.

Which was basically what was happening with her again. He could feel a rush of emotions leaking from her mind, such as anger and hate and fear and even sorrow. Above it all, he could feel the warm trickle of utter concern for _his _well-being.

'_We'll make it,'_ he reassured her. '_I have destroyed Scarabs in the past. The Master Chief managed to destroy two of them within three minutes during the last moments of the war. It is a question of boarding them.'_

'_How?'_

By approaching it from the sky and dropping onto it, or damaging it enough that it was forced to enter a self-repair state, during which it bent through its knees, rendering it vulnerable to infantry boarding it. Both ways…wouldn't work during this engagement.

Aeraleth felt his hesitation. '_I can get you close.'_

'_No.'_

'_It would be easy. Remember the forest?'_

A high-altitude point-insertion on the Scarab. His MJOLNIR would enable him to survive such an impact and then he could destroy the power-core. It was too dangerous; the AA-guns on the scarab would nail any dragon approaching it. It needed to go first. How? The Scorpions? The Warthogs? Too dangerous. There were Wraiths and Ghosts and Banshees. A full-scale battle would result in the annihilation of all the UNSC troops. Unacceptable.

Unless…Needlers only affected organic material. But the needles didn't penetrate armour or metal or blades…and they had not traced Aeraleth during her brief stay in Feinster. Her scales functioned like armour? Shielding? Something native? In any case, the Needlers didn't work very well against her. If they removed all the AA weapons, Aeraleth could make strafing runs and decimate the Covenant army. But there were too many things that could go wrong, too many risks for her to take. '_I won't allow it.'_

He felt her frustration welling up as quickly as her worry had. '_You cannot forbid me!'_

'_Yes, I can. If Thorn is around and if the enemy can't shoot you down as soon as you appear, you can attack as well. But until then, you will stay safe.'_

She stayed quiet for a few moments, but then, '_This is why you are alone.'_

No, it wasn't. '_Everyone else dies. I always fought alone. But when it is safe, you can fight with me.'_

But she didn't reply to that anymore. Maine was left with only the war to worry about. Marine fireteams took up positions on the walls surrounding Aberon, wielding long-ranged weapons like Sniper, Beam and Battle rifles. There was one primary gate to reinforce and that where the urgals and Kull would fight. Whether a Kull could actually fight a Brute was very debatable though; Brutes had evolved on a planet with extraordinarily-high gravity, whereas the urgals had evolved on an earth-like planet. They had been unable of even hurting him in the past, so they wouldn't be able to kill a Brute in one-on-one combat.

Soldiers started firing away at the incoming Covenant forces. The distance was about a kilometer and closing, allowing the Snipers to pick off important enemy troops. But the ammo for the large rifles was scarce and soon, one Sniper called out he needed more clips.

The Marines and ODST's leading the native soldiers were all veterans of the Human-Covenant war, allowing them easily take control. They were all assigned call-signs to make it easier for their Alagaesian comrades to work with them. One such Sniper, named "Graveyard", handed one of his clips to a fellow-Sniper. "I've got a Chieftain here. Ceremonial hammer, walking at the front. They'll be setting up their Wraiths soon too."

"Copy that," his colleague said. "We've got Alcohol-column on it."

Alcohol-column?

"Good. Let Gremlin know that there are about five of the mortars. Alcohol should be able to outmaneuver them."

From the looks of it, the Varden soldiers carrying their equipment and protecting them against rushing infantry knew about as much about the call-signs as the Spartan did.

The remaining thousand meters became five-hundred and one of the urgals assigned to the Marksmen hefted a large Covenant weapon. "What is this?" it asked with its rumbling voice.

"A Plasma cannon we salvaged from one of the squads we ambushed," a Marine replied. "Graveyard, why don't you set that up?"

The sniper sighed and stood up. "Fine. Spartan, pop some heads would you?"

Maine nodded and took the large rifle over from the ODST. The Chieftain had slugged off the first two hyper-velocity rounds and retreated further down the army to prevent getting its head shot off, but there were still plenty of targets.

Like two Jackel Snipers positioning themselves atop the Scarab. The Spartan calmly sighted in on one of them, blew its head across the bulkhead behind it and shifted his aim to the other. Before the alien had even noticed that it was suddenly short a friend, it lost its brains as well.

But the Scarab was coming closer and closer, until the massive head-like protrusion at the front started glowing with green plasma. The Wraiths spread out across the dessert to assume a firing formation and slowly brought their cannons to bear.

"Incoming!" Maine barked, jumping upright from his crouching position. The five mortar-tanks unleashed their first salvo and five massive blobs of superheated Plasma burned a trial of fire across the horizon. They weren't a direct threat yet though; their slow speed and steady arc would make sure that the shots only impacted after about half a minute.

No, it was the Scarab that was the most dangerous. The massive turret on its back pivoted around to face the city and its main gun fired off a thick stream of plasma. The evacuated buildings and structures standing in-between the capital city and the Covenant army were caught in the beam of green light and their outlines remained intact for a split-second before the overwhelming wave of plasma vaporized them, leaving only burning husks in its wake. Sure, they had been made out of wood and logs, but still.

That thing needed to go first. A hundred meters and closing, the Covenant army opened up as well. There was no controlled discipline in their ranks, just ravenous monsters with enough firepower to reduce every single city in this country to molten slag.

The Wraith mortars gained speed as they descended towards the city. Three of the blobs were clear misses, but the other two were clearly about to impact in the courtyard and the marketplace respectively. Marines yelled at soldiers to move, people rushed to get out of the death-zones and everyone scattered. When the first mortar impacted, it flash-vaporized everything in a radius of twenty feet. Buildings were set alight, wood changed to carbon within a heartbeat and the ground became glass. One unlucky soldier didn't quite get out of the blast-radius and was flung against a stone building, his chainmail melting and his clothes catching fire.

A soldier wearing refined and well-shaped metal plating ended the man's suffering with a single stab of his blade, without hesitation.

Maine glanced at the odd foot-soldier, recognizing the specific blade he carried with him. If Murtagh was here, was Thorn close?

"Spartan," he called, walking towards the walls with hurried strides. "What do we do?"

Maine jumped towards the Rider, grabbed him by his arms and pulled him out of the way. The next moment the section of wall that they had been evacuating, exploded outwards with the force of an impacting tank-shell, throwing shrapnel and debris everywhere.

"Stay put," he told Murtagh, glancing at the new hole in the so-called impregnable walls. "Stick close to the Marines and focus on keeping people alive."

Outside of Aberon, the Scarab walker was getting into position, taking aim at the walls with its massive gun. The turret on its elevated rear pivoted around to target the Pelicans and Phantom dropships that were circling around the city to lay down ground-fire. Behind the Scarab, the many hundreds of Covenant soldiers were charging towards the wall, exchanging fire with the few Marines remaining on the walls. Most of them were already falling back.

He could see Hunters approaching too.

"What are we going to do?" the Rider asked, clearly shaken by the sight of the alien hordes.

"Protect Aberon of course. To do that, we are going to kill every last alien on this world."

* * *

"And that's when I knew Reach would fall. They had hundreds of their ships moving towards the poles and even the Spartans could not stop them. With the generators overrun, we had no choice but to make a random jump."

"That is terrible," Eragon replied. "And this Reach was where you built your own ships?"

"Yeah, it was. Experts said that the Fall of Reach reduced the estimated time of survival of our race from a few months to a few weeks. That's when the _Pillar of Autumn _jumped…and discovered Halo."

"Halo?"

"You know it's actually classified, right?" Richard Meester pointed out.

Sergeant Crane snorted. "Yeah, well ONI can come and arrest me right now."

"I wouldn't put it above them."

"So anyway, the _Autumn _carried the Chief –at this point thinking he was the last Spartan in existence- with her to Halo."

"What is this "Halo"? " Yaele asked in an odd display of curiosity. "And I thought that Spartan was the name of the Rider?"

Eragon exchanged a glance with Arya, who wasn't partaking in the conversation. "He doesn't like people knowing his actual name. It's the name of the group, just like the Riders."

"Putting it like that makes them sound like sissies. Spartans are the stuff of legend. So anyway, Halo was this massive ring, easily ten-thousand kilometers in diameter."

"That sounds like an awful lot," Eragon said.

"It IS an awful lot. It had an atmosphere, oceans, a sky –hell, it was an entire world. The shite that went down there could fill entire books. And the Master Chief was one of the few survivors who made it out of that place, too."

"And this…Master Chief…is a Spartan too? Just like ours?"

"He's not just any Spartan; he's the leader. Spartan one-one-seven, the sole reason our race still exists. Without him, we wouldn't have won the war. If you want to know about human legends, Eragon, you don't need to go farther than him. He has single-handedly defeated entire armies, destroyed entire fleets and saved entire cities. Wherever he appears, defeated soldiers fight with new courage and vigor. Armies rally around him and his appearance spreads hope. Even the Covenant fears him."

"You make this Spartan sound like a god," Arya dryly remarked.

Eragon winced at her choice of words. Because of everything that had been going on, Arya's opinion of humans was slowly deteriorating. She didn't like the idea of her race being overshadowed by mankind, despite everything she had seen and witnessed, so she tried to hide it with snide remarks. In a way, he could understand why. She was more disappointed with the elves than she had ever been before and with her being…well, herself, she didn't know how to show that. Maybe she was even in denial about her feelings.

"Nah," Sergeant Wallcroft replied in kind. "Gods can't pull off the crazy stunts he did. He jumped out of a spaceship once."

Yaele looked like someone had hit her in her face. "What?"

"Once?" Crane repeated. "At least three times."

"Now you are joking with us," Eragon said.

"No man, I'm not kidding. When I was stationed at Cairo, when Regret's fleet arrived at Earth, I was there."

Crane raised an eyebrow, staring at his helmeted comrade. "What, you were there at Cairo? With _him_?"

"Not saying that. I meant I was just there to defend it against the boarding parties. I saw the results of his handiwork...and I caught glimpses of him through windows, covered in alien blood. It was brilliant."

"I would like to hear what happened," Yaele said. Arya kept her face completely impassive, but Eragon could see that she was interested as well. She would just never admit it.

"We've got these platforms around our planet. 'Bout three hundred of them. They're as large as our ship is and serve to defend against enemy ships."

Eragon frowned. "Wait, how do they do that? What are they made of?"

"A really big gun with some metal plates attached to it. They are floating weapons; capable of shooting down any Covenant ship in one go. Each round they fire is the size of…well, half a castle."

Again with the scales that he could not comprehend. How did a gun fire a projectile the size and weight of half a castle? That was just impossible! He couldn't understand it. He wasn't going to try and hurt himself trying to accept that these people broke everything he believed true on a daily basis.

"Anyway, I was stationed on one such station called the Cairo. The Chief was as well. The Covenant fleet arrived, but there weren't too many of them. So they sent smaller ships to infiltrate the stations and blow them up with a really big bomb. And I mean a bomb larger than a Spartan. It would make the Cairo disappear in one flash. So Lord Hood –our leader at that point- sends a call to the Master Chief to take care of it. And boy, did he take care of it."

Eragon was growing impatient. "So what happened? What did he do?"

A flock of birds left the trees of a forest, just up ahead. Crane and Meester looked at each other, before signaling to continue moving.

"He jumped of course," Wallcroft continued. "He killed all the aliens guarding the bomb, pulled said bomb into an elevator and went down to the lowest deck. There, he spaced himself. Now a bit of context; space is deadly for anything without the proper clothes." He turned to Arya. "I don't know how much your people found out about the Stars and this funny little thing called vacuum?"

Arya crossed her arms, not looking particularly amused. "We discovered that there is a void when you go too high. There is no air and no water."

"That's about right. No air, no water, no nothing. Just emptiness. And fifty ships duking it out with fire thick enough to walk on it back to Earth. That's the same as going for a stroll in the middle of the Burning Plains, with thousands of catapults, carriages and soldiers going nuts. The Chief jumped out of Cairo station with the bomb, cruised through space for half a minute, before depositing the bomb into one of the bigger ships that was fighting our fleet."

"How big?" Yaele asked.

Crane stuck his arms out. "Like this."

The ODST punched him on the side. "Sod it. You seen the ships coming from the sky?"

Rider and elves alike nodded sheepishly. None of them was very likely to forget that sight.

"Good. The ship he dumped the Covenant's bomb in was about four times as large."

Eragon felt his mouth fall open. "_What_? How large do they get!"

"Now that's a different question. Answer: really damn big. Now, the Chief dumped the bomb inside of the Covenant ship, pushed himself off again and then rode the explosive shockwaves back to safety. And you wanna know the worst part? I'm not making any of this up. The crazy SOB actually jumped out of the station into space, gave the Covenant back their bomb and then rode the explosion all the way back to the allied ship sent to pick him up. He landed on the ship. Like a brick, but still. And to him that was normal."

Yaele shook her head. "I find this hard to believe. How did he survive?"

"His suit. MJOLNIR Powered Assault something something. Same thing our Spartan wears. Made it possible for him to breathe until he was back with us again."

For people who made it clear that there was no honour or glory in war, there sure were lots of heroes and heroic moments in their war. Although…he supposed that three decades of total warfare left plenty of room for individuals to distinguish themselves like that.

Arya took a breath and looked at Sergeant Crane. "What I want to know is why you number your Spartans. Do they not have names?"

Something interested happened. The Marine glanced at Wallcroft, who quickly averted his face. Which was odd, because he was wearing a helmet. Richard, who was walking in the front, lowered his head and grew tense.

"As we said," Sergeant Crane then slowly stated, sound like he chose his words with great care, "Spartans don't like it when people know their names. Didn't he tell you that?"

"He mentioned it," Eragon replied. "But if their commanding officer wants to give them orders, they need to know their names. So why the numbers? Why are these Spartans so different from the rest of you?"

"Who says the Spartans are different from us?" Crane snapped, too fast and too loud for anyone to trust him. He fell silent for a few seconds, during which everyone stared at him. "Yeah, I heard it…fine." he sighed deeply and took his helmet off, running a hand through hid short-kept hair. "Man, sometimes I really hate this bullshit."

Eragon looked back and forth between the soldiers, wondering what it was that had them so on edge. Why was it that every time they asked anything about Spartans, the Starborn would react in such an odd way? What could possibly be bad enough to react like _this? _"Listen, I don't know what is going, but even I can see it. Seeing our current situation, I don't think it is smart for anyone of us-"he gestured at Arya and Yaele, "-to push for answers. But for better or for worse, we are allies now. Keeping secrets will only harm that."

"Kid, even WE aren't allowed to know everything," Crane said. "What makes you think we are going to trust a bunch of natives with that? Would _you _share your secrets with _us _if we asked? If Miss grumpy over here didn't even want to tell she was the princess of her kind? If her entire _race _hid away in the forests for decades, stashing away every flippin' scrap of information they had? No mate, we're not gonna tell you anything ya don't need to know."

There was an armed soldier from the stars yelling at him and insulting literally every elf on Alagaesia, and the only thing that really stuck out to Eragon was that Crane's accent grew more noticeable the angrier he got. It probably wasn't a good thing he was so used to such outbreaks by now.

"Guys," Wallcroft softly said, but they didn't listen to him.

"There is a difference between secrets concerning leadership decisions concerning the people you work with," Arya stiffly replied. "My people don't concern you, but Spartan has influenced our lives greatly. His "decision" at Melian proves that."

Sergeant Wallcroft turned to Yaele, holding his hand against his forehead in an ashamed manner. "Don't suppose you could talk sense into them?"

The elf merely shrugged. "It is not my place."

"Bloody brilliant."

"Believe me lady, you don't even _want _to know about the Spartans. The only reason we know ANYTHING at all is because we have to work with the black giant. Our government doesn't even know!"

"Then how can you expect us to trust him if you do not even trust him?" Arya snapped, raising her voice considerably. "How are we to trust _you_?"

"You're not! You're supposed to shut up, follow our lead and stay alive!"

"Crane, Arya, both of you shut up!" Wallcroft shouted. "The last thing I need is an elf with a broom-handle up her arse arguing with a cocky moron that can't separate his personal feelings from his own damn job! In case you didn't notice, Whiskey-Bravo and Yaele just noticed tracks in the forest! Covenant tracks! And here I am shouting like Parangosky!"

They all fell quiet within a heartbeat, reducing their argument to a few angry stares and heated gestures. Eragon honestly didn't know who he was supposed to side with in this big mess of politics and secrets. He held Arya dearer than anything else in his life and the Starborn were making things unnecessarily difficult with their distrust. On the other hand, Yaele had only spent a few days with the humans of the UNSC and she was more willing to accept their ways than Arya, who was the ambassador of her kind. It was time for her to just accept that things changed, and that this right now was their situation.

Sergeant Wallcroft and Yaele took the lead this time, straying only a few meters from the rest of the group. Crane stuck to the right, whereas Eragon made sure that he and Arya stayed to right. Richard Meester moved in the middle, keeping only his pistol with him. He had allowed Eragon to keep the rifle, even though he wasn't very sure if he could even fire the thing. But there were expectations he had to live up to, as a Rider and as a human.

Because now he knew where he really came from. Humans were survivors. Soldiers, warriors. Hanging on to the bitter edge against all odds. They weren't inferior to the elves, or outmaneuvered by the dwarves. They were a people on their own, with their own origins and their own destiny. And their destiny was _not _to be burned from above by an alien menace; they would always rise against those attempting to destroy them.

And if they could fight off the Covenant here, Galbatorix didn't stand a chance.

They continued through the small forest like that, slowly making their way to the river where Saphira waited for them. If they were lucky, they could find her and return to Surda to defend the country against the invaders. If they weren't lucky…well, he didn't want to think about it.

Eragon saw Yaela gesturing at Wallcroft, who immediately turned around and made a cutting gesture with his hands. "Get down! Now!"

Arya and him dropped towards the ground together, while Meester and Crane quickly dove for the bushes.

"What do you see?" Eragon mouthed, not daring to extend his consciousness towards the soldier for mental communication. He could hear things moving, but he didn't know if it was wildlife or alien. He also didn't know if they could feel it if they were being subjected to mental probes like magicians or beings of magic were. He couldn't risk it

Wallcroft waved him away and slowly moved towards the bushes in front of him, which were shaking slightly. Yaele calmly unsheathed her sword and held it at the ready, while the soldiers behind them reached for their guns. Eragon could sense something animalistic on the other side, neither native nor Starborn. What was-?

A grey head burst from the scrubs, wearing a metal mask with round protrusions at the sides. It nearly butted heads with the ODST scouting ahead, perhaps a dagger's-width apart. Before the creature could even squeal in surprise, the elf thrust forwards and stabbed it in the throat, burying multiple inches of elven steel in its flesh.

The creature, obviously alien in nature, gurgled for a few moments before dying. Yaele withdrew her sword again and observed the blue, viscous blood she had drawn with it.

Sergeant Wallcroft quickly hauled the body out of the bushes and raised his head, searching for more Covenant. "Grunt, veteran. Look at the red harness. If there is one here, there must be more around. Stay alert." He pocketed the green, sickle-shaped weapon and handed it to the person who had saved him the trouble of having to try to kill the unpleasant-looking creature with his bare hands. Then he stripped the alien body of two spherical devices, which he stuck in his own satchel. "The trigger is that small button near your thumb, single-shots only. It will give away your position if you activate it, so be careful." He was speaking in a hurried, hushed voice and with good reason; there had to be a Covenant patrol around and if they initiated a firefight, they would only alert more of the aliens to their position. "Oh and thanks, by the way."

Yaele nodded in response and attached the pistol to her outfit by weaving it with a piece of leather at her hips.

Eragon was about to ask his comrades where they needed to go next, when he heard a loud growl in the distance. It was the type of feral growling he had come to associate with the alien Brutes and it rattled him more than he had expected it to; he felt a shiver run down his spine and he felt his muscles clench in response.

And he wasn't the only one. Arya closed her eyes and clenched her fists, the memory of the monster still fresh in her mind.

"That wasn't us," Crane whispered.

"No," Wallcroft replied. "It wasn't. Probably natives. Fancy a looksee?"

Eragon didn't fancy a looksee. He didn't want to have any looksees; he wanted to get out of this forest, link up with Saphira and fight off the invading Covenant forces. He wanted his planet back, but he didn't want to risk the lives of his allies doing so.

On the other hand, if there were native people fighting the monsters, they might need help. Even if they needed to stay hidden, Eragon refused to watch good people die a senseless death if he could help it. "I do," he said. "But carefully."

"Carefully is our specialty," Wallcroft replied, puling the corpse of the red-clad grunt away from the open area. "Yaele, with me. The rest of you, stay frosty."

Frosty? Why would they want to stay cold? That didn't make much sense at all. The UNSC and their strange code-words…

Sergeant Wallcroft led the way towards the source of the noises, which lay only a few meters ahead of them. There was a noticeable opening in the treeline, where light was already pouring in from the sky. The night of fire and death was over, but a whole new day lay ahead of them. It would be harder to avoid enemy patrols in the light, but at least the Starborn soldiers with them could pull them through.

"Down below, the enemy," Yaele whispered, raising a slender arm to point at an enemy position a couple of meters away from the forest. It was on the lowest point of a small hill, where a group of Covenant soldiers stood around the bodies of three Jackels and two Grunts, unceremoniously dumped on top of each other. Eragon couldn't see how they had been killed, but it was obvious that the Covenant was not happy with it. The Grunts were trembling and the Brutes were furious, bellowing orders at their fellow-soldiers and shoving the smaller aliens back and forth. There were a few rocks and fallen trees scattered around their position, almost as if they had been placed there to serve as cover for other people.

Cover for other people…bodies on the ground…plenty of space for an ambush. He sent a mental probe to Arya, warning her of any treachery. '_This place was set up as an ambush.'_

'_Then there will be enemies of the Covenant here?'_

'_I hope so. Perhaps more UNSC soldiers?'_

'_Perhaps.'_

Then Eragon sensed something else. Something different. Human-like, but off. Like a distorted form of mind, still clearer than that of any elf. A creature with a fortified mind, animalistic like the Covenant, but _intelligent_. It was a brief moment and he didn't dare to go for anything else, but he was still aware of the group of new contacts that was closing in on the Brute patrol.

"Shit," Crane muttered. "Safeties' off."

One of the Brutes oddly bent backwards, before a shimmering blade of intense light burst from its chest, shining like a Beacon in the night. There were two of the white beams close to each other, the tips closer than the middle-sections.

The blade of light withdrew from the alien at the same time as another one impaled the Brute next to it, always from behind. The Grunts screamed in panic and opened fire, as well as the Jackels.

"Let 'em have it!" Wallcroft shouted, halfway coming upright and opening fire with his Assault Rifle. He cut down three Grunts before Eragon understood what was going on and even then, it made no sense.

There were new creatures causing havoc among the Covenant patrol; large creatures with blinding swords, which they used to eliminate the Brutes with shocking efficiency. The massive, sturdy aliens that could withstand gunfire simply came apart underneath the swift ambush, as if the blades were carved from the surface of the sun itself. There were four of the agile, two-legged warriors, but they weren't alone. They had their own group of Grunts as well! The little creatures were hard to see, because they wore black suits, but Eragon could see it all. He could see the black-clad aliens gunning down the Jackels with superior firepower and proper tactics, taking them down with flashing needles and extraordinarily large bolts of plasma, which exploded violently upon impact.

As soon as the one of the larger aliens beheaded the last Brute with his magic sword, it turned towards the top of the hill, from where the Starborn had revealed their position by aiding these new aliens.

Eragon didn't know why they could possibly be helping these creatures, but he had long since learned not to doubt his allies. He would attack whoever they attacked and assist whoever they assisted…to a limited degree, of course. These people had a…peculiar way of viewing life. They might deem lives as unworthy of attention, whereas Eragon viewed every life as worthy of attention; such was the difference between a Rider and a soldier, he supposed.

"Great," Meester sighed. "Split-lips."

What-lips?

"Humans!" one of the creatures called with a heavy, growling voice. "A most rare sight."

"Hold it right there," Crane yelled, not lowering his rifle. "This is a bit too weird for me. First the Covenant finds this place and starts murdering everyone they encounter, now Sangheili?"

'_What are Sangheili?'_ Arya asked.

'_They must be the Elites that Spartan mentioned. Did he mention them allying with humanity?'_

'_I believe he only explained how they fought against their kind during the war. But things change.'_

There were five of the diminutive aliens; two had the pink needle-weapons, two had massive green guns resting on their shoulders and the last one had the same pistol-weapon that Yaele had been given. They seemed the most relaxed of all of them, shifting their weight from one leg to the other, occasionally babbling with each other in their high-pitched voices and shoving each other.

So there had been a civil war of some sorts? Like human killing human with the Varden and the Empire, Covenant killing Covenant?

"An explanation is not amiss," the Sangheili then replied, displaying more curtesy in two sentences than Spartan had shown in his entire career as a Rider. "However, we must make haste. We came here with a holy mission; our brothers are scattered across this land."

There were more of these things? Creatures that could kill Brutes with impunity? Eragon felt his heart leap, much like it had when the UNSC had first arrived in force. Hope was a powerful sensation; it washed away his exhaustion and pains and he could feel a grin growing on his face. Again, things were going _their_ way.

"I think we should follow them," Meester whispered to Crane, soft enough that Eragon had to strain himself to understand him. "They proved invaluable in Installation zero-five, as well as the Ark. Spartan must not find out though."

"He should be busy with the Covenant anyway. The spooks can keep him away from the split-chins."

Spooks? Why would they be the ones to keep Spartan away from these alien allies? Were they afraid that he would cause an incident by falling into his previous tendencies? He could understand why the USNC would be afraid of that…but they didn't even trust their own soldier?

"We're coming down," Wallcroft told the Sangheili. "But we must insist in a ride back to our allies; this planet is under siege."

"The filthy Jiralhanae have struck both north as south. The dessert and the forest are burning. We have yet to link up with our brothers, for we are merely the vanguard."

"So there aren't more of you?" Meester asked.

The Sangheili was even more menacing from up close. It was completely clad in black armour and stood even taller than Spartan, more than foot above the likes of Arya and Eragon. It had a hinged head oddly elongated, with four mandibles that were protected by the armour as well. Its helmet had a few small fins to the side, giving it a fish-like look. It didn't reflect on the alien's overall appearance though, which was oddly reptilian. It had an overall human shape, if a hunched over, but it was the smaller details that made it appear strange. Its hands had two thumbs and two fingers, it stood on odd hoof-like claws and its legs looked more like the legs of a cat than those of a human.

The Grunts gave small cries of surprise upon seeing the elves. Their voices were so funny, but Eragon couldn't help but notice the spiky protrusions on their arms, and the relative ease with which they carried their massive weapons. The stocky Grunts were much like dwarves, with the Sangheili being much like elves.

"Funny-looking human," one muttered to its colleague.

"We are _not _human!" Arya firmly told it. It seemed she had not yet grown over her problems with mankind yet.

The Grunt leapt in surprise and hid behind the other Grunt, before sticking its head in a curious fashion. "No hurt me, I like human!"

"I said _not _humans! We are elves, and we were native to this planet long before the humans arrived," Yaele told the little Grunt.

"Wait, you said the north was on fire?" Arya then said, forgetting about the insulting Grunt. "The forests?"

The large Sangheili turned to face her, its nostrils flaring as it picked up her scent. It grunted. "Your scent is not familiar to me…the forests, you say?"

"Brutes are advancing upon the forest of Du Weldenvarden," Meester quickly added. "There are sayings of Forerunner structures there. We aim to stop them."

"The ancients? Here? The Prophets are gone and still they persevere!" the creature growled, before turning to face the other ones. Their shiny swords were nowhere to be seen; where were they? "Brothers! Once more, the Brutes seek war with those the false Prophets wronged! We will cut into the heart of this invasion, defend our human allies and burn any Brute that stands in our way!"

The aliens roared with their leader, baring their hinged jaws and rows of predator-teeth to the rising sun.

"Our vessel is close by," the Sangheili then spoke. "We shall take it to these forests. We shall not rest until we have put the Loyalist filth to our blades!"

Eragon understood that, instead of Surda, they would now set out toward Du Weldenvarden. He didn't say anything about it because he wanted Arya's family to remain safe –her mother was all she had left of her previous life- but he wasn't too keen on leaving Saphira behind.

'_Saphira?'_ he asked her, hoping that she had been listening in.

'_Yes little one?'_

'_I need you to travel to Surda, to assist our allies there. I believe we can handle the rest from here.'_

'_Are you sure?'_

Eragon looked at the intimidating Sangheili, with their impressive weapons and their sharp teeth. '_Sort of. Make sure to find Aeraleth and warn her that we have allies, but that she cannot allow her Rider to find them.'_

'_I understand. Why not?'_

'_My guess? He will not be able to control himself and attack them.'_

'_Then I hope your allies can be trusted.'_

'_Aye,'_ Eragon agreed, looking at the Marines. '_I hope so too.'_

* * *

The incoming Brute charged at him in its berserking state of mind, losing all rational thoughts and thinking only of slaughtering the one responsible for killing its pack-mate. It dropped its weapon and uttered a guttural cry of hate for all to hear.

Maine dropped the bleeding corpse of its pack-mate, feeling satisfied with the result he had had. It appeared as if the Brutes didn't like it when one of their commanders was slaughtered like an animal; how very odd.

He took a deep breath and felt the warm sensation of hormones pouring into his system. Spartan-time kicked in, time slowed down and his blood was boiling. He clenched his fists and placed his right leg in front of the left one, roughly three feet apart. Right arm raised, left hand at hip-level, fingers spread. To engage Brutes in a direct fight was suicide; a fight was a physical test of brute prowess, in which they would always win. However, there were dozens of techniques one could use against an enemy such as this. Ancient martial arts like Aikido and Judo had been developed to deal with just that; beating significantly-heavier opponents without wasting your own energy.

"_Feed off of the foe," _Helia-009 had called it "_Use their energy against them and you can keep at it for days nonstop."_

He was planning to do just that. As the first Brute lunged at him with a double-handed, overhead blow, he stepped in and to the side, positioning himself right next to it. He placed one hand on top of the armoured arm of the Brute and pivoted on his heels, forcing the massive creature to spin in a three-sixty around him. He whipped his combat knife out at the last second and, upon seeing the second Brute about to impact on him, suddenly twisted his hips and sent the alien flying towards its comrade. Together with a freshly-slit through, of course.

With those two out of the picture for a while, he was free to deal with the next ones. He dove underneath one's arm, changed his footing and steered the creature to the ground, violently dislocating its shoulder in the process.

The next one swung at him and he backflipped backwards, kicking the armoured monster in its jaw and breaking its teeth. Then he lunged forwards again and stabbed it in its eye. He released the handle of the knife to avoid a swipe of a Spiker-blade and slammed the head of the first Brute into the head of the second one, forcing the knife all the way into its skull.

Having temporarily stunned the second one, he pulled his knife free with magic and opened up a huge gash in its neck. He then kicked the Brute down to the ground, rolled to the side to avoid a flurry of Plasma and kicked the skull in of one of the fallen aliens. Then he turned to face the trashing Brute once more and used magic to sever the exposed nerves, severing all communication between the brain and the body.

He had learnt that Covenant soldiers weren't vulnerable to magic unless you could directly see what you were manipulating. She he exposed them.

With his newly-acquired plasma rifle, he continued his bloody work. The walls had been breached, the city invaded and the castle obliterated by the Wraiths. Tank-squadron Alcohol, consisting of Whiskey-Alpha, Vodka-Alpha and Rum-Alpha, had been sent on a flanking maneuver to take the Wraith-tanks out, but that could still take a long time. In the meantime, she Scarab was systematically tearing the city apart. There were several underground structures, like cellars reinforced with stone, that were being used to keep the wounded safe. But the Scarab was systematically tearing the city to pieces and it was just a matter of time before the Covenant stumbled upon those buildings.

And that was what Maine fought for. To protect those he cared for –actually, honestly cared for. It was new, but he liked it. It made him more focused, even with poison and death flowing through his veins. He could feel his mind slowly falling apart piece by piece with every single battle he fought, but he couldn't lose it just yet. He had to keep himself together just long enough to do this.

"Push them back!" an ODST shouted, blasting away with a Shotgun at the seemingly-infinite group of Grunts that was pouring into the city. There were Minors and Majors and even Ultras just scattered throughout the ranks, melting away whatever cover the valiant defenders had left. The outer walls had all but crumbled away underneath the searing waves of plasma and the soldiers were forced to make unorthodox maneuvers to keep themselves alive.

But they had prepared for this. They had made plans to make sure that they wouldn't fall and even though the infrastructure was being crushed, they were still putting up a well-organized defense. Maine could see a squad of Covenant soldiers rushing into a small building, where a lone Varden soldier had just fled for cover. The bloodthirsty aliens rushed after him, only to accidentally trip a grenade-trap. A rather crafty soldier had glued and taped nails, pins and scraps of metal to the grenade, further increasing the amount of damage it would do.

But as the bait ducked for cover outside, she was still pursued by at least two Brutes. They were bloodied and bartered and spikes stuck out of their bodies, but their frenzy only increased because of it. They charged towards the lone Varden soldier-

-and a pair of Kull fell upon them, followed by three urgals. The grey-skinned humanoids were armed with large, bladed weapons that could have easily matched those of the Brutes and one urgal even had a Spiker in his hands.

The Spartan let the bruisers duke it out and returned his attention to the main bulk of the army. Murtagh was working together with Sergeant First Class Wilks, Specialist Takeo and Second Lieutenant Riley to target the most dangerous Covenant assets who could present a danger to their air-support, which existed out of two extremely-active Pelicans and one fully-armed Phantom.

But the biggest threat was soon to come; two Hunters were hurrying towards one of the massive gaps in the wall, headed straight for Murtagh's group.

That wouldn't happen.

Maine jumped on top of a fallen piece of rock and jumped off, aiming for one of the Hunters. The creature saw him coming and raised its assault cannon to blast him out of the air, but he was faster. He poured a few bolts of boiling-hot plasma into the Hunter's bare chest, where the starship-grade armour did not protect it. Groups of orange worms oozed and boiled out due to the sheer heat and the massive creature ducked behind its shield again.

Hunter armour could take several plasma blasts before even starting to heat.

The Spartan landed on top of the Hunter's shield and jumped away before the alien could smash his bones in. The second one charged towards him and swung its heavy shield at him, but he rolled to the side and poured a few shots into its unprotected back.

The first Hunter roared in rage and stepped in closer, swapping power for speed. It swung its heavy shield with a sideways swipe, forcing the Spartan to leap into a roll to dodge the attack.

And the second one was on him in an instant. It rushed towards him with surprising speed for its size and tried to ram him with his shoulder. But Maine was still faster; he grabbed the Hunter's shoulder, swung himself around and landed on its back. He could feel the painful symptoms of the black rage bordering on the edge of his mind, threatening to overwhelm him like a strained dyke giving in to the immense pressure of the water.

And he was getting tired. Days of nonstop fighting and using magic were slowly wearing him down to the point where his strikes lost their precision, his movements lost their edge and his magic made his limbs heavier than before.

But he could still take care of two Hunters. He dropped behind the back of the second alien and struck at its exposed flesh with several lightning-fast blows, crushing the colony-worms with the intense forces his punches exerted. The Hunter roared in pain and whirled around a hundred and eighty degrees, swiping at him with its shield. He dodged the attack once more and rolled over the ground, grabbing a hold of the creature's massive ankles to pull him at the right angle. He pulled himself up with one hand and forced his hand deep into the Hunter's chest, ripping out a large handful of worms. Then he pushed himself away again-

The second hunter smashed into him with the force of a Warthog, pounding his already-strained shields flat and sending him flying off its bond-brother.

Maine growled with anger and frustration, slamming his hand in to the ground. Then he spun around and charged at the second Hunter, attacking it with several aggressive jabs. The alien was too strong and shrugged his attacks off without difficulty, retaliating with an upwards blow with its shield.

Maine reared backwards to avoid the attack and allowed the heavy metal shield to land on the ground in-between his knees. Then he jumped over the massive alien and went for the wounded one again. He whipped out his knife and briefly accepted the dark fire in his mind, feeling his senses grow both duller as sharper.

He _hated _these creatures. They were all going to die and he was going to be the one to kill them off.

The Spartan snarled as he unleashed a series of flashing slashes and stabs with his combat knife. He held the blade in reverse-grip, allowing him to spin it between his fingers for maximum effect. He tore at the colony creature with both of his hands, slashing and tearing at its exposed flesh without letting up. Plasma bolts impacted on his suit and he felt his temperature slowly rising, but he didn't care. His forearms were slick with orange blood and he weaved around the Hunter without giving it a chance to retaliate. Finally he ended up in front of it and forced both of his arms into its chest, tearing a last armful of trashing worms out.

The Hunter screamed and fell over, no longer moving. Maine stood there with a heaving chest, his vision pulsating and reddish. He was vaguely aware of voices whispering inside of his head.

Too late he realized that the Hunters always came in pairs. Too late he spun around to face the second one, extending his palm as he did.

A bolt of green fire flickered into view and he barely had the time to shout "Brisingr!" before the blast of energy washed over his chest, turning his shields to nothing and allowing the explosive plasma to make contact with his chest plate. The heat inside of his suit grew to a fever pitch and burning pain tore through his entire body. A shrill alarm echoed through his helmet, but then it suddenly shorted out. Droplets of blood covered the inside of his visor and the numbness inside of his head was fighting a war of a massive scale against the all-consuming pain in his chest.

Something took his mind over and assumed control over his limbs. His vision blurred out completely and the pain faded away to an annoying sensation creeping at the edge of his sanity. He felt himself leaping at the burning Hunter, holding the molten remains of his combat knife in his right hand.

He didn't know what happened. Had no idea what happened. Jumped, leaped, slashed, battered. Shot, dodged, attacked, killed. The voices inside of his mind increased in intensity and he took a ragged breath, smelling burnt flesh and plastic.

His knees gave away underneath his body and he stumbled against something solid. He immediately shot out with his arms and struck a double-handed blow at whatever it was, crushing its chest. A weapon clattered to the ground and he hurried to pick it up. He found the trigger with bloodied fingers and immediately took aim at the enemy, firing the weapon until it would overheat.

Only it didn't overheat. The barrel grew white-hot with heat, but the searing projectiles tearing into the flesh of his foes were not made out of plasma. They were too solid for that.

The gun clicked empty and he discarded it, before plucking another weapon from the dead fingers of a cut-down alien. He didn't even see what he was firing at; plasma rained down on him from all directions and more than once, he felt like something hit him harder than it ought to have.

But he didn't stop. He didn't cease. He kept going, tearing through the Covenant's ranks without allowing them to get the drop on him. He pried plasma weapons from dead hands and fired them until they were bone-dry, after which he continued on to slaughter his foes with his bare hands…

His shields did not recharge like he thought they would. The alarm kept shrieking into his ears, worsening the already maddening feeling of numbness and fury inside of his mind.

But he kept going, never relenting. The black rage took his mind utterly and completely, and he lost complete control of himself. There was nothing but the waves of alien feelings, blurred out sensations in his head of actions he knew nothing of. His body acted and his mind followed, without anything it could do about it.

Then he turned towards the Scarab, observing the giant walker. Three figures descended from the sky, sparkling like brilliant gemstones. Black, blue and red.

The tired Spartan blinked, watching the three creatures spread out and head towards the scarab. The city was burning, people were dying and the blood in his visor was refreshed every few seconds. He was trembling ever so slightly, but he couldn't stop killing. Physically and mentally.

"Aeraleth," he whispered in an attempt to rid himself of the primal hatred and aggression. It didn't work. Bolts of plasma and Needler rounds ripped through the sky and the three dragons fell upon tbe Scarab, unleashing their internal fire upon the walker.

He had to help them…he had to fight…but he couldn't pull himself away from the fight. His body wasn't willing to leave the war and help the ones he loved; his hands went for a captured plasma grenade, priming it with a soft squeeze.

A Ghost rushed past him and he slammed the sticky grenade onto its hull, allowing the plasma to heat up and fuse the explosive to the metal frame. A few seconds later, a brilliant explosion of pure, blue light pelted him with pieces of debris and shrapnel. Heat washed over him and increased the pain he was experiencing, but that too washed away as a new sensation of other warmth spread through his body. No pain, no limits, nothing.

After the grenade detonated, he turned his attention to the skies. Three large reptiles unleashed their wrath on the four-legged walker, bathing it in flames. The Spartan could not see what happened to the walker itself, but he saw the turret turning to face one of the creatures. The black one The important one.

Something tugged at his mind and made him move away from the Covenant army, towards the massive vehicle. He did not know why, or how, but he had to stop that thing from targeting the creatures.

He looked around and saw a large, jagged piece of metal lying on the ground. He felt something familiar pull at the edges of his mind, like a memory waiting to be recalled.

His knees slowly gave away underneath his body and he saw the ground rapidly approaching his face. How long had he been fighting? He knew that he was going to continue until there was nothing left…but how? The large alien vehicle was steadily advancing towards the city, occasionally burning something that stood in its way. The turret was slowly zeroing in on the flying reptiles, and it was going to open fire. He knew that. Only he knew that. How would he stop it?

Could it even be stopped?


	34. Fall of ages pt II

The nearest Kull roared in defiance at the group of alien invaders, and the armoured creature in charge roared right back. The two warriors impacted on each other with enough noise to rattle the windows in the wooden houses.

Garzhvog huffed when he saw the heavy suit that his foe wore. It was purple-blue and covered nearly its entire body. Only its hands and feet were left bare, just like a few patches of skin above its knee and its sides. His clan-mate would have great difficulty besting such a wicked-looking foe, even if it was only brandishing a small weapon, with two bladed sticking out of it.

He directed his attention back towards the smaller creatures, several of which were now approaching him. Three of the little runts had large humps on their backs, like metal backpacks. Another two had strange shields that shimmered like green suns. Garzhvog had seen many arrows be deflected by such disks, even as the mighty Starborn projectiles. There would be no shooting through those…but maybe he didn't need to.

Garzhvog gripped his club tighter and closed in on the nearest runt with a few thundering steps. Before it could react, he crushed its small body with a mighty swing, sending it flying into a brick house like a bag of sand.

Another two fell before his wrath, their bones shattered underneath his powerful blows. Their strange armour gave away and revealed their sticky blood, which was blue. The shielded creatures were more of a problem; their weapons could burn through all metal. He had to be smart with them; attack them from the rear.

After he had destroyed the enemies he could, Garzhvog punched his way through the nearest house and sought cover from the green balls of death that the enemy's spewed at him. They seemed to burn through the very sky itself; leaving pungent stenches with every single impact. He knew that he would most likely lose a limb if he was hit with that evil magic, so he had to actually take care where he moved his massive bulk.

The two limber creatures surged after him into the house and he jumped at them from the corner, where they had not yet searched for him. He battered their shields aside with a colossal swipe, upon which one of the creatures was knocked off its feet and across the room. The other one still had time to crawl back to its feet when Garzhvog raised his leg and brought it down upon its skull, turning its head into pulp.

He grunted under his breath, but not with satisfaction. This wasn't what he had expected of the enemy. He had heard the rumors and the stories about this ancient foe of mankind. Not the weaklings here in Alagaesia, but actual warriors from the stars. Their foe, their blood. Their war. It had seemed like an impressive fight at first; to crush the enemies of ancient humanity and prove that the Urgralgra had their place in this land after all.

But alas, such were only his thoughts. The rest of his kin…most of them wanted a good fight and a glorious war. To cause death and destruction and revel in the destruction of others, to prove their own strength. It had always been the cause of their bad fortune and now…now it could destroy them all.

Garzhvog was an honest Kull; he liked to fight too. He liked the exhilarating feeling of warmth that his body created when he clashed with his foes and the utter relief of surviving yet another conflict. He liked wars. But he had never _seen _war from the perspective of the victim…like here. This…this Covenant as they were called…they could _destroy_ ever single creature alive and they could do it without hesitation. Garzhvog had never been on the side of prey before and he didn't like it. He hated it. He liked winning and overpowering his foes…but he didn't like being weak.

Did that make him coward? Like they had thought of the King? Fight only when he could win? Perhaps. But his kin loved war, unlike him. They would wipe out their enemies with a laugh on their face and meet their end with that same smile...if they thought they could get honor and glory with it. Much glory and much honor. That was why they fought. But with this war…it would end with their extinction. It would have already ended with their extinction had they continued like this.

He knew the bad feelings that the people harbored against them…with good reason.

The Kull and the Covenant warrior crashed through a door together, smashed through a wall and finally ended up against a sturdy wall made out of stone. There, the otherworldly warrior slowly wrestled the large axe away from its protected face and slammed it into the Kull's right leg, in the upper side. He screamed in pain and attempted to push the creature away, but it was in vain. For all of his strength and all of his power, he could not prevail against this newcomer alien. And while Garzhvog hefted his own weapon and rushed to aid his struggling comrade, deep down he felt that hard sense of despair, knowing that he was too late.

The creature roared and smashed the bladed weapon against the clan-mate's head, burying the curved daggers deep into his throat.

Garzhvog bellowed and rammed the steel-clad warrior with his shoulder, sending it through another wall. He didn't waste any time and immediately reached for the crossbow-like weapon, which was still covered with the blood of his kin. There were a few odd icons and protrusions and he didn't know how to operate it…but he did know fire and steel. The blade on the front would have to serve their needs.

Behind him, he could hear multiple rapid explosions, but he paid those no heed. His foe had recovered from his attack and was now facing him once more!

With his foe's weapon now turned against him, Garzhvog knew what he had to do. He raised the weapon like a crossbow and took aim. The thing was heavier than he had thought and it smelled like burning meat. It would prove to be an effective weapon, he was sure of that. There were no external projectiles to be lashed onto the top, but he had seen Starborn and Covenant soldiers alike use their weapons without any arrows. It would work.

He heard human cries and cursed behind him, but he only had eyes for his foe. The well-protected creature barked a challenge at him and Garzhvog replied in kind, increasing the pressure on the small pad underneath his thumb until the weapon spat out its lethal projectiles.

But it wasn't blue magic or small pieces of metal; they were massive pins that burst from the weapon, burning through the air and impaling his foe. The weapon vibrated in his hands and its heat increased enough to be noticeable, but it did not spin out of control for that amount of projectiles it shot. One, three, five, ten, all of them just emerged from the weapon with massive speed. Where did they even fit? They were longer than the weapon itself!

He riddled the creature with the spikes from its own weapon, but it wasn't enough. It charged him like a ramming Nar, pieces of its suit shredded from the relentless assault. More of the rapid explosions echoed to his left and Garzhvog jumped to the right in an attempt to dodge the rabid attack. In doing so, he spotted one of the Starborn soldiers moving in with his own weapon, facing off against the smaller creatures.

His enemy tackled him at the last moment and knocked him to the ground, cutting his view off of the rest of the fight, much to his frustration. He _knew _that the key to victory lay hidden within these battles of the titans, but he couldn't think about the future of his race if some shaven bear attempted to reduce his throat to the size of a pebble.

The weapon flew out of his hands as he felt his back smash into the rough floor. He snarled and grabbed the skull of his adversary, pushing it away from himself. But the muscles in the alien's neck were like banded iron, he might as well have been strangling a rock for all the good it would do him. Garzhvog had to credit these foes; they were much more tenacious and punishing than anything he had fought before. It was a good thing that they got everyone working together to slaughter them.

He heard weapons discharging once more and blood erupted from the body of his foe. He could feel its tremendous power weakening, but just a bit. But that bit was enough for him to start fighting back properly; he wrestled a knee between himself and the monster and pushed up and away, managing to get the beast to release his neck in return. He pulled a large dagger from his leg and plunged it deep into its throat, just like he had dispatched of the other one. Mere seconds after that, a black boot appeared in his field of vision and kicked the massive alien off of him, but by that time Garzhvog had been successful in thoroughly slicing the creature's neck apart. He eyed the human who had tried to aid him while crawling upright and then went for the discarded weapon, thinking that it would come in handy even after this fight.

Brutes. Now Garzhvog remembered what they were called. Brutes, because they were vicious predators…worse than how the other races saw his kind. Perhaps after this, the arrogant elves and foolhardy dwarves would reconsider their opinions.

The fight was far from over though; small Grunts ran towards their position as fast as their stocky legs could carry them and the small shield-carriers rushed after them, filling the air with magic. And behind them came more of the Brutes. Aptly named, the monsters immediately broke into a full-on sprint towards their position. Stuck in-between several houses as they were, the two of them could not maneuver away from the incoming wave of enemies. Within seconds, the battle was joined.

After several minutes of tense, house-from-house combat, the Kull found out that he had long since emptied the spike-weapon. It was utterly dry and he had no idea how to replace the rounds; he would have to improvise.

One weapon stuck inside the skull of a Grunt later, Garzhvog found himself a shiny new weapon with which to take the fight to his foe. But the very moment he emerged from the ruined remainders of the house, he witnessed a scene that he would long remember. A massive crater had been burned into the ground; the houses around it were in fire and the ground was filled with scattered pieces of coal. No civilians were screaming and there were only several aliens left, together with the one Starborn. The few civilians that he had spotted hiding were silent.

One Brute threw itself at the Starborn soldier, hammering at him with a double-handed blow. The human flew backwards and impacted on a wall with enough force to blow several stones out of it, but he barely had time to crawl back to his feet before his foe was on him again.

Garzhvog shouted, hating his lack of speed in the most important of battles. The Brute brought down its weapon on the Starborn without mercy, carving straight through his suit and spilling his blood over the floor. Wounded but still alive, the soldiers dove underneath the last blow and rolled over the floor to escape the wrath of his enemy. He clawed at his hip and tore a weapon from its sheath. It seemed to explode several times in a row and spurts of blood burst from the mangled body of the Brute, but it didn't stop its charge.

The Kull growled and lashed out with his arm at one of the smaller aliens in his way, knocking it off its feet. His arm felt like it would fall off with the slightest movement but he would not let it stop him. He was stronger than this!

Another alien fell under his might and the road was clear. But it was far, far too late. The Starborn fired his last projectile and the Brute struck him, carving his weapon-arm off with one savage slash. The Starborn screamed and fell to his knees, red blood pouring from the lethal wound.

The Brute chuckled deeply and, before Garzhvog could stop it, struck the soldier once more with his sharp blades, slashing him through the abdomen and coating the walls with the blood of man.

But then Garzhvog impacted on the alien with the full force of his might, knocking it to the ground with the noise of an entire armory collapsing. He roared with rage and attempted to shove his broad-knife into its throat, but the Brute still managed to reach up and grab his arm, preventing him from slicing its throat to pieces.

The otherworldly monster screamed at him with its evil face, covering Garzhvog's face with saliva. Its helmet was cracked and its malicious eyes were shining with arrogance and cruelty. Lines of sharp, stubby teeth lined its jaws and gave it a wicked grin.

Garzhvog headbutted the Brute, crashing his curved horns into its head and tearing off the remaining plates of armour around its face. Not giving the creature any time to recover, he pulled his head back and rammed it again. When the iron clasp around his wrist ceased, he plunged the knife deep into his foe's neck and erupted a river of oddly-coloured blood. He could feel the Brute struggling underneath his body, kicking with its legs and gurgling as its life's-fluids were draining away. But too slowly…too irregularly.

He tore his knife to the side, hewing through the thick muscles in the warrior's neck with satisfying noises. The Brute's arms came up and slammed into his sides, pummeling him with heavy strikes, but Garzhvog didn't let up. He bellowed again and smashed his fist into the Brute's plating with enough power to dent any existing armour, after which he immediately headbutted it again.

His knife came loose and he jammed it down again, finding another soft spot for the blade to reach. The spastic piece of rage underneath him slowly calmed down and eventually stopped, ceasing all movements altogether.

Panting, the Kull stepped off of the body and observed his own wounds. He had several cuts and scrapes on his face, one of his horns was chipped and his chest was covered with a mixture of the blood of his foe and his own. But he lived…and the Brute was dead. Never before had he fought such a ferocious monster as this one; not even the wildest wolves or the most aggressive bears could make for the same fight he had just escaped from.

The Starborn soldier lay behind him, groaning through his teeth and holding the bloody stump of his arm. Garzhvog took one stride towards him and then stopped, shaking his head upon seeing the damage that had been done. The human soldier had been struck by both blades of the enemy weapon, which had carved open his abdomen and spilled his organs. He could smell it; the familiar odor of the blood that should not be spilled. The man was already growing pale, his pain-induced spasms slowly decreasing in intensity.

The Kull quietly grunted again and knelt down next to the fighter. So ferocious, so lethal…so vulnerable. "You are dying."

"No shit…" the soldier coughed. His skin was ghastly pale and the ground underneath him was already becoming a puddle of blood. He groaned in pain and closed his eyes. "Hey…shit-face…gun…"

Garzhvog looked around and spotted the discarded weapon lying on the ground, next to the severed limb. The weapon felt small and feeble in his hands, but he still treated it very carefully. If there was some sort of warrior-custom regarding the Starborn and their weaponry, who was he to stand in his way? In this conflict, the urgals were nobody. "Your weapon."

The soldier coughed a few times, worsening the flow of blood that was pouring over his lips. "Good. Aim…my head."

Garzhvog blinked. "What?"

"Just…do…"

Ah…a choice to die as a warrior instead of a miserable, slow end. But the blood-loss would set in soon, would it not? "Your people can not save you?" Still, he slowly raised the weapon and aimed the right end at the Starborn's forehead.

"Pull…the…trigger."

No answer to his question? He could not be saved? Garzhvog raised his chin and wrestled his finger inside of the metal frame, around the protrusion called the "trigger". Was there something he should say? Something before his death?

The soldier sighed and dropped his head against the wall behind him, as if facing the sky. "Daddy's coming home…"

Garzhvog increased the grip on the weapon's trigger, which exploded with the force of thunder. The Starborn slumped over, dead, while the Kull wondered where all the glory of war had gone.

* * *

Somewhere on the plain between consciousness and unconsciousness, Daenlith could feel herself slowly drifting away. She was aware of voices whispering near the back of her mind, but she couldn't understand them. They needed to speak up if they wanted her to hear them; how could she possibly respond as they were now?

"_Speak up," _she said. "_I cannot hear you."_

They rose in intensity, like a crescendo of whispers echoing through a cave, or the collective voice of the wind rustling through the trees. Greater and greater became, until at last a booming voice broke through. And the very moment it did, the elf wished it never had. In the black void that she was floating in, unaware of anything but it's presence, the voice felt like the most massive presence she had ever felt. It was truly massive; blotting out the rest of her world and even her memories. All that she could grasp was the sheer intensity of its hunger; its yearning for something her mind could not possibly understand. It went beyond the simple need for sustenance, rest or even lust. It was blackness, a void. A gaping darkness that could only be filled by _consuming_.

"_Ash to ash. Dust to dust. My voice is the chorus of the earth, going to and fro, walking up and down. And you shall listen, mockery."_

Rattled. She was rattled. The presence that forced her to bow and stay down was everything that she did not know. Its voice was vast and forced out everything else, yet she only _heard _its words, never understanding them. "_Where am I? Who are you?"_

"_Be vigilant, be sober. We walketh forwards, seeking whom we might devour."_

Devour. Devour. Devour.

"_There are secrets that you compose…secrets that you entail. Secrets you speak to ME alone. Cast down by their bloody hands, you shalt all be ours."_

Daenlith gathered her courage, her spirit, and with more power than she could honestly feel herself, she spoke, "_Who are you?"_

And the being replied. "_Free your soul and keep your secrets. Keep your life of mysteries, you tool of the deluded. Mockery of my enemy. I am eternal and everlasting, Spare not the old world, nor the new one. I am the destruction of the breath of life." _

That last word was uttered with such intensity that her very essence shook with its might. Compared to it, she was insignificant and worthless. Small and like a fleeting moment, burning intensely so that she might fade away the next moment. But if she was going to burn and fade away, it would not be quietly into the night! She was going to fight, with everything she had. And she would not be alone-

With the last remnants of the whispers fading away in her head, Daenlith woke with a start. Her heart hammered in her chest, her skin felt like it was on fire. The world around her spun round in circles andit took her several moments to even grasp where she was. Something was covering her body, soft and cold. It robbed her of her ability to move, took away her freedom.

Deep down, she knew that she should not be breathing so much. That something was wrong with her body and that she should attempt to calm herself. But those feelings never reached her conscious mind; she kicked with her legs and trashed around, screaming without a sound in her attempt to break free. Whatever had been covering her body fell away and she became aware of a terrible, burning pain. in her side. It stung and itched and it nearly drove her to a panic once more. And there was something else; something of great importance that she needed to share with someone. Anyone. Warn them. But about what? It was right there…yet she couldn't grasp it.

She took several deep breaths and looked around...wherever she was. It was dark, but rays of sunlight poured in through small gasps near the top of what to be a room. It was damp…cool…yet terribly loud. The walls were black and the only thing that looked handmade was the upper rim of the room, where poorly-placed wooden planks had been placed to block out the sun. There was a small set of wooden steps leading to a heavy-looking door…where was she?

Daenlith swung her legs over the edge of what she now saw was a bed and felt something fall away in her thoughts. It was like something had been taken from her…lost and discarded…but she couldn't remember what.

Her knees wavered and she nearly crashed against the bed; she had to brace herself with both of her arms and even then, she nearly slumped to the ground.

The next second, she couldn't even remember what she had gotten so upset about. It must have been the odd way her entire body ached; she felt extremely warm, yet the very air was enough to make her shiver. Where was she? Wasn't she clothed well enough for the cold?

…she wasn't clothed at all. Her arms, clutching the folds of the bed, were covered with something white. She had bandages all over her body, with her legs being the only exceptions. Had she been wounded? Was that why she felt like she could collapse any moment?

Outside, something exploded with enough force to shake the entire room. Bits of dirt and earth broke off the walls and roof and in the distance, someone screamed.

That was enough to shake Daenlith's thoughts out of the haze they had been stuck in and she pushed the searing pain in her side out of her mind. Steeled herself for what needed to be done, whatever that may be. She grabbed the bedsheets that she had kicked off during her brief moment of panic and wrapped them around her upper body, to keep her warm as well as to preserve her modesty. The door shook on its hinges when another impact rattled the world and when she tried to open it, she found that it was bolted shut.

Daenlith sighed with frustration. _I do not have time for this_. She reached for the rusted hinges and, after a brief moment where she could not remember how to properly close her hands again, ripped the hinges off. It puzzled her that she remembered so little; even her body wouldn't properly obey her commands. The bandages had to be there for a good reason…but why? Even her left hand had them…and it hurt as well. Burned, itched.

The thought kept lingering as she checked the door again. It felt smooth and well-worked, so it would not splinter under a hard impact. Good.

She kicked the door out of its frame, sending it tumbling down the road for a good ten feet. And then she nearly collapsed when another lance of pain shot through her body, temporarily driving out all other sensations. She was vaguely aware of the wall as she slid down against it, her legs having given out underneath her again. Her vision blurred and she feared that she might pass out here, without any over or protection.

Why couldn't she use magic? She couldn't have been drugged, could she? Had the Empire caught her?

No…not the Empire. Something infinitely worse. For reasons unknown to her, she felt dread. Like there was some invisible predator lurking nearby, waiting for her to lose consciousness. If she fell now, she would not get up again.

Daenlith gritted her teeth and reached for the empty frame of the door. She felt something solid in her fingers and gave a sigh of relief. Next, she pulled herself up again and attempted to delve into the pool of energy that would enable the arts of magic.

Nothing. So she had to improvise…she was not good at that. Her body would have to guide her; even if her mind was clouded and her vision blurred, her other senses were not. She could still hear and smell and _feel_ her way around. Not helpless.

The sun shone outside, casting its warm light on what looked like a human city. One that she wasn't familiar with; where was she? What had happened?

A corpse lay further down the street, in a pool of its own blood. Blue blood. What unearthly being had blue fluids running through its veins?

Memories flashed through her mind, bringing a terrible battle to light…one that she had fought in. Monstrous creatures butchering civilians and soldiers alike, her kin slain in battle and enormous vessels descending from the sky…

The elf groaned quietly and rubbed her temples. Her head was hurting so much…why couldn't she focus? Fix all of this?

She bit through the blurring and the pain and looked around the urban environment, searching for any sign of a trap or a scheme. When she could not find any, she moved towards the corpse. It was riddled with holes, together with the ground around it. Barefooted as she was, Daenlith dared not walk through the puddle of viscous fluids. It looked so different from what she knew that it might be harmful if it came in contact with the skin, or poisonous. Why, perhaps the fumes coming out of the body were noxious as well!

There was a building to her left, where one wall had been blown out. That would make for as fine a detour as any, though she did not want to come into contact with whatever it was that had destroyed its wall. Scorch marks and more holes pocketed the interior of the structure and there was glass everywhere.

Daenlith raised an eyebrow upon seeing the ravished home. The noises around her grew worse and worse, yet she did not _see _anything. No humans, no monsters, nothing. Where was everything? Who was fighting who?

Would she have to fight everyone to escape this wretched place?

The wind picked up, carrying a scent of fire and smoke and death. With it came the stench of burnt flesh, terrible and familiar to her. It was disgusting and foreboding.

She was about to move onwards when she felt the wind blow past her ears. Something was…off. She wouldn't have noticed it if she hadn't been trying to frantically to keep a hold on her sanity by her senses, but it felt different. The touch of the cold air on her ears was different. Right felt somewhat…numb. More so than left.

It was probably nothing. Or at least nothing she ought to worry about at the moment. Now, she needed to find out why the ground was trembling so badly. What was going on-

Something massive crashed through the roof and Daenlith leaped backwards instinctively, nearly losing her improvised cloak in the act. She rolled over the ground and came to a standstill against the wall of a completely different house, which had just barley remained spared by the enormous…thing that had just entered the fray.

It was a pillar, grey and several meters thick. It grew larger and bulkier on the upper side, where its colors abruptly changed into purple.

Daenlith gasped and scrambled backwards, both to get a better view on the monstrosity as to get away from it. It was truly massive; higher than the tallest tree, broader than the oldest dragon. It thundered across the landscape on four massive legs, leaving gaping holes wherever it went. She could the roars of furious dragons and the air, which had constantly been growing warmer and warmer, rose to a fever pitch.

Seeing this, she had to admit that the idea of a god had never seemed as realistic as now. What else could this be if not a celestial being? A creature of enormous power and might, impossible large and impervious to even a dragon trying to destroy it? No, this could not be a living being. It was either a god or…or…

…or a vehicle from the stars. She could remember; remember the massive vessel of Starborn humanity, larger than this.

Larger.

The elf shook her head and fastened the sheets. She could not afford to panic; that was the last thing she needed. If she wanted to live, she needed to stay calm.

Calm.

The beetle-like vehicle moved onwards, leaving the rear exposed. There was a sort of hump on its back, where a massive cannon was shooting white orbs of magic at the dragon circling around it.

Not dragon, dragons. Three of them were flying overhead, constantly descending and bathing their foe with their coloured fire. Blue, red and black. Saphira, a dragon she did not know and Aeraleth. The appearance of the third dragon was puzzling, but not a complete mystery. She had heard vague mentions of Eragon's half-brother, who had been spirited away by the Empire before coming back on his own. The red one had to be his.

But even the collective might of three dragons could not even harm this thing. Its metal plating didn't even glow with the heat, let alone scorch or boil away. How were they going to fight this thing?

People appeared around her, wearing black armour and helmets that she recognized, but could not name. They reminded her of the battle she had fought, just recently, fighting this very same foe.

Covenant.

There were three of the Starborn humans, with another few soldiers trailing behind them. The native humans had swords, coated with purple blood.

"Where did you come from?" one of the black-clad humans demanded upon seeing her. He carried an absurdly-long weapon in his hands, which had an elongated end and a tube filled with glass at the top.

Rifle.

Before Daenlith could reply, the human continued. "Never mind that, you need to get to safety! The Scarab's tearing this city apart."

She was missing someone. Someone important, who she needed to know was safe. "I want to help."

They would refuse. She expected –no, remembered it. They would attempt to send her away.

The left soldier pulled a weapon out of a holster in his hip and tossed it at her. Daenlith only barely managed to catch the weapon, but that was in part because she was distracted by the native humans that were staring at her with mixed expressions of fear, awe and even pain.

One of the Starborn must have noticed, because he turned at the lot and snapped, "What are you staring at? I told you to go gather the weapons! Move it!"

The humans didn't hesitate for a second. One of them brought his hand to the side of his head –elbow out- before turning to leave, taking the others with him.

"Do you know how to work that?" the same soldier who had passed her the weapon asked. He sounded younger than the one with the long rifle. Gentler, too.

Daenlith eyed the silvery weapon, remembering seeing one before. "No…yes."

The older one spoke up again. "Good. Take it and stay down. Night, status?"

Upon hearing "night", one of the Starborn turned to face him. "Dragons are doing a hell of a job distracting it. Murtagh's directing them to the weak points –now we need to get it to get down."

They were going to fight this thing? With just the three of them? Weren't there more Starborn?

"Good. Move out."

They didn't offer her a chance to come with them, but that didn't matter. She was going with them. Whether they liked it or not.

Now that the "Scarab" had passed them by, she could get a good view on how the dragons were fighting it. The red one was working with Saphira and constantly lunged at the legs, latching onto the metallic appendages and coating it with flames as he went. They were not that successful, as the plates protecting it were too tough.

Aeraleth meanwhile was having a go at the cannon on the back, constantly swaying out of the way of the blobs of light that it spat at her. It looked battered and charred and some of the plates were already peeled away from the damage that had been inflected. Small figures were darting back and forth on the sides of the Scarab, firing away at the dragons. They would score a hit on occasion and a dragon would roar with pain and rage in return, but they did not let up.

More soldiers joined them on the ground, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Some were wounded and looked outright abused, while others were covered with the blood of their enemies. Large weapons, small weapons, Starborn and native –Varden- the variety was greater than Daenlith had seen in a long time. They were all charging after the Scarab, gathering more numbers as they went. Their speed she could easily keep up with, but her legs were burning and weak and she had to fight to keep on her feet. Soon she found herself at the rear of the group, behind the Varden soldiers. Her improvised cloak trailed behind her and her feet were hurting worse than before, but she knew better than to let that stop her. She had had decades to train herself in that aspect at least.

But then the Covenant soldiers emerged from the buildings that had yet to be crushed by the giant walker, brandishing their own collection of weapons and infantry.

Both groups opened fire at once and the only ground that could be crossed was open ground, with lots of ruined buildings that could serve as deadly ambushes for both sides.

Daenlith dove aside to dodge a flurry of spikes, which passed by close enough that their sheer heat was enough to sear her hair. The Starborn unleashed their own weapons at the same time and within a heartbeat, the air was filled with crisscrossing magic, arrows, metal objects and fire.

"Brisingr!" she cried, but nothing happened. She still couldn't concentrate enough to weave spells!

"Graveyard, building!" one of her "escort" soldiers shouted at the one with the long rifle, who rolled to the side to avoid a small, blue orb. Said orb then exploded with more force than she had ever created with magic, turning the ground to glass and burning the sky itself. Lances of blue energy crackled through the air, but they did not claim anyone's life.

All of them took their refuge in the destroyed homes, where their charge fell to a lethal standstill. Daenlith remembered how someone she knew had said that their war had been a losing one, where their foe was superior in all aspects. She could see this here. The weapons of the Covenant were far more superior than their human counterparts. The Starborn could punch through solid rock with their weapons, but the Covenant actually _boiled _through their cover, ripping it asunder with a merciless barrage of instantaneous fire. She had to duck low in order to keep her head on her shoulders, but a Varden soldier behind her was not as lucky. He did not possess her reflexes and as a result, took a bolt to the face and fell to the ground.

She did not wish to see the result of that hit. What she did see, was the soldier who responded to the sick name "Graveyard", who popped out of cover and took aim. On the far side of the battlefield was a cluster of enemy soldiers, one of whom had set down a large weapon on stilts. It poured down shots with unbelievable speed and firepower, burning through their cover within seconds.

He was faster than seconds. Twin thunderclaps split the air and both the alien manning the weapon as its ally fell to the ground with large holes in their heads.

Daenlith grabbed the fallen sword of the human soldier and leaped out of her cover. Fighting always exhilarated soldiers, no exception. They would move faster and strike stronger than when there was no combat, and that was further boosted by a live-or-death situation. She too felt a rush of heat wash over her as she went for the open and darted for the next cluster of houses, half a dozen meters away. In the several seconds it took her to get out of cover and into cover, the Covenant unleashed their weapons once more and boiled the air around her.

More thunderclaps, the enemy fire ceased and she made it without injuries.

But as it turned out, the empty frame that had once had human inhabitants had new ones. Only these weren't human, but small aliens with backpacks, filled with alien gas. They leaped in the air with surprise as they saw her, before attempting to take aim at her with their weapons.

Emphasis on tried. She was much, much faster and darted forwards, beheading both of them with simple strikes. Years of experience and training flushed right back into her body and took over her movements at once, pushing out the feelings of panic, uncertainty and dread. This was her element and she would rule it.

The corpses of the aliens –Grunts- fell to the ground and she took a second to grab one of their weapons. A green, clawlike weapon. She remembered it clearly…why did she remember it clearly? She had never used its lethal magic before, had she?

It didn't matter. "Reisa!" she snapped, pointing at the other weapon. It jumped into the air and stayed there, unmoving.

So the brief clash was enough to bring back her concentration? Excellent; now she could be of some use. With the Covenant weapon in one hand and the sword in another, she moved to the next "empty" house, where new foes waited for her. She could hear the humans screaming orders at each other and moving from cover to cover, steadily advancing on the Covenant without taking more hits.

Inferior in the sky, inferior in technology, inferior in numbers…superior on the ground. The Starborn were _better_ than the Covenant on the ground. She had not truly understood it before, but now she did. She could see how the aliens fell to the ground, taken out by precision fire from good positions, while the humans moved with the purpose and motivation that they needed to win without taking any more casualties. Like they _belonged _in that fight. Never taking their weapons off of the enemy, moving while keeping the enemy in their sights.

It was gratifying to watch.

"Night, laser!"

"Copy."

Daenlith could see Night slide a massive weapon over the ground towards the third black-clad soldier, whose name she did not yet know. The boxy weapon bumped against a piece of rock and stopped, only a few feet out of the soldier's reach. Fire impacted on his position and he was forced to dive down to avoid them, unable to grab the large weapon.

But she could see it all…and now she could act. One mere word later, the weapon flew into the Starborn's arms, who acted without hesitation in the display of magic and rose to a crouch.

A small, red light painted a target on the most active group of Covenant soldiers. It grew brighter and brighter, while the weapon seemed to charge with power. When it's humming grew to a volume that it started to annoy the elf, the weapon discharged. A fiery beam of red light struck the cluster of Covenant soldiers, burned through them and kept going, hitting more soldiers behind them. It happened so fast that Daenlith could barely follow it; one second it was a small flickering light, the next there was a stream of death that destroyed whatever it touched.

Even the Covenant seemed surprised; their fire stalled and the Starborn pushed once more, more aggressive than before.

She moved on as well. She could see a group of shielded enemies and one big creature, which she vaguely remembered as very dangerous. That one would be her first victim.

They didn't realize that they were being attacked until she was already in the middle of their group, dealing quick and decisive blows to the unaware foe. The big one was too busy taking shots at the humans to realize that its shield-bearers were being slaughtered until the last one managed to cry out with pain as Daenlith split its chest-bone apart with the sword, which then proceeded to spectacularly fall apart in her hands.

With the ruined handle in one hand and a weapon she did not know how to utilize in the other, the elf faced off against the massive alien. Eight feet of armour and muscle, the creature roared at her with more flying spittle than urgal could muster.

Daenlith looked up at the creature and muttered a few of the death-spells to take it out quickly and efficiently.

But instead of dying, the very-alive alien aimed its weapon –a giant knife with a rifle attached to it- and opened fire.

Trained reflexes took over and she leaped in the air, safe from the three explosives that detonated underneath her. She knew that this weapon would slaughter her with one good hit, so she could not afford to mess around. She landed on the other side of the creature and tried to skewer it with the jagged piece of metal that had once been a sword.

Emphasis on tried. Her foe was either too well-armoured or too muscled. Perhaps a bit of both. Either way, it didn't work like she wanted it to. The serrated end of the weapon grated against the shimmering yellow suit of the monster and left a deep cut, but nothing more. All the strength that she had was not enough to end its life and the maneuver left her enemy free to retaliate, which it did. It swung at her head with a savage swipe and she was forced to perform a backflip in order to dodge it –again, setting herself up for more counter-attacks. She had her agility and reflexes going for her, giving her a major advantage above the Covenant soldiers. But this thing was faster and more ferocious than a Kull and it seemed absolutely driven on killing her as fast and brutally possible.

She ducked and weaved and side-stepped most of the attacks, but eventually it drove her against a wall, where she couldn't maneuver away from the thuggish creature. She could nearly imagine it leering at her, a savage grin on its face, nostrils widening for the scent of blood.

Its weapon came up with a flash and the elf kicked off against the wall, leaping over its head once more. But the blade –it caught her in her leg, carving a path across her right leg. She couldn't help it; she cried out in pain and nearly missed her foe's backside. By the time she had positioned herself on top of its shoulders, she was already bleeding all over its armour. The pain that the deep wound on her leg was causing her was nearly enough to completely destabilize her and if she didn't fix it soon, she might very well lose consciousness.

That being said, it also frustrated her to no end. She was _sick _and _tired _of shedding blood for no other reason than the aggressiveness of others. Daenlith wrapped her hands around the creatures chin and neck and wrenched it aside, expecting the bones in its neck to wrench themselves apart against the sinews and muscles. She had killed more than enough urgals to know that this was a good method to kill large and muscled enemies.

Except that it didn't. The alien's head turned farther than should be possible and it started shaking its shoulders like a tree pelted by the wind, trying to shake her off.

She grunted with annoyance and pocketed the magic weapon again. It was now or never. Her thumb went for the pulsating image that had to be the trigger and at the same time, her weapon went for a piece of vulnerable-looking armour on the creature's neck.

The jagged end of the broken sword pierced through the yellow plates at the same time as the pistol discharged, sending a green orb of light straight into the monster's neck. It boiled through its protection, bit apart its skin and tore through the muscles underneath it. The massive heat that the discharge caused singed the skin on her hands and caused her no end of discomfort, but it had to be even worse for the alien. It howled in pain and spasmed wilder than before, throwing her off of its shoulders and against the hard floor.

With nothing but the thin sheets and torn bandages to protect her battered body, she landed extremely unwell. She screamed in pain as more spurts of blood burst from her leg and a piece of rock penetrated the bindings on her side, inflaming a particularly-sensitive wound. Again her vision blurred and this time, it was at the worst possible timing.

The damned thing didn't die! The alien roared, ducked low and pounced at her, its eyes gleaming with visible hate and malice-

-a burst of dark blood exploded from the side of its head, together with chunks of flesh and pieces of bone. It happened synchronized with another thunderclap, allowing the corpse of the ravenous animal to crash against the ground mere inches from her feet, where it stayed. Dead. And it would stay that way.

Daenlith sighed in relief and crawled to the side of the wrecked house, where she could see the rest of the battle develop. It seemed that the Graveyard still had her in his sights. He seemed the superior gunner from the group of soldiers, even though she didn't suppose that meant a lot. At least not to her, who knew so little of these people.

Her wounds were killing her slowly; draining her energy and crippling her movements. to say nothing of the steady blood-loss and shock. If she got herself in another conflict such as the last one…with another impossibly-durable monster…it would be the end of her.

Normally a close encounter with death would leave her feeling much more alive. But now… she didn't feel like there would be a tomorrow worth fighting for. What good was there in fighting and dying when nothing would change?

The human soldiers moved up, Starborn and Varden alike .They were relentless in their push for new territory and unfazed by the death that the monsters were sowing. In the wake of the enormous construct, not even the prospect of a painful death seemed to stop these people. Had this truly been their war for so long? If so, what had they been fighting for? What did they have that they would give their lives? S

What had it been that she would have given her life for? The future of her race? Her home? Vengeance?

Had she ever fought with the zeal and courage that these humans showed? Given her all for a total victory, not just the death of the enemy?

A trio of humans whirled around a wall and opened fire on an unseen foe, only for one of them to be hit by a powerful blow and get flung back several meters backwards for his troubles. The remaining duo quickly backed up, never ceasing fire, and drew their foe out.

It was another one of the armoured creatures, riddled with holes and only barely protected by its suit, but fully capable of running around nonetheless.

Until one of the Starborn pulled out a different weapon –a smaller weapon, black and elegant- and opened fire. Unlike the deafening explosions that the larger weapons caused, this one seemed to possess less power. Nevertheless its projectiles tore through the creature's hide like arrows through clothes and nearly ripped it apart. One of its limbs was torn free from its bulk and the body fell to the ground in a pool of gore.

One of the Starborn –a man wearing a green suit with white pieces of armour- turned to face his fallen ally and offered him an arm, pulling him to his feet again.

Daenlith turned to her mangled leg and tapped into her remaining reserves of energy, repairing the worst of the damage. What foe would place blades on ranged weapons? Sharpened like that, even? A sharp blade with get stuck inside of the bones of its victim, enabling a counter-attack. Unless it was even sharper than that, slicing through the sturdy structure of a skeleton with sheer power. Either way, it had caused a sufficiently terrible wound that she could not simply heal it. She would have to fight through this battle without the full use of her legs...even though it seemed like a fool's folly.

But the human soldiers moved and so would she. She could see the black-armoured trio taking the lead, with Night in the front and Graveyard near the back. The third one wielded that massive boxlike weapon which had claimed the life of many foes at once, carrying it on his shoulder and holding onto it with both of his hands. It seemed absurdly large for something that was used in the cityscape, but her judgement had been wrong before.

The Scarab loomed up ahead, its purple mass shimmering in the sun. The cannon on its back had been torn apart by the sharp talons of dragons and its legs were completely covered by scratches and scorch-marks, yet it showed no sign of stopping. How could you beat something like this?

Exhaustion washed over the elf and she sought out the nearest wall for support. One of the dragons broke off from its high-speed attacks and moved towards the collection of humans, most of who she could see appearing from their cover. Apart from the three black ones, there were seven with the green outfits and at least ten Varden ones. Twenty humans against one craft capable of decimating entire cities.

The one who came towards them was called…Aeraleth. Spartan's bonded partner.

In that instance, Daenlith knew what was going to happen. She knew it and Aeraleth knew it too. As Spartan's partner-of-mind, she knew more about this war than anyone. She knew how to destroy this thing and she was going to do everything to make it happen.

She swept down, grabbed both Graveyard as his unnamed comrade and took off again. Perhaps only because of their excellent methods of communicating did the Starborn not open fire on the being that just took two men from their ranks. They just stood by and watched as Aeraleth circled around and descended once more, taking both Daenlith as Night too.

The elf barely had time to scream with dread before the ground disappeared beneath her, turning her world into a combination of vast emptiness and black claws. She _hated _this; hated flying, hated things happening without her permission and outside of her understanding. She _knew _that Aeraleth had a plan, but she wasn't allowed to know what it was apparently. It involved snatching away who looked like the best combatants and take them straight towards the Scarab, but there were quite a few aspects of that plan that didn't work out that well.

The trouble started when the enemy opened fire on them from the sides of the Scarab, once again turning the air into their personal battlefield. Some of their faster shots burned holes through Aeraleth's wings, but the thin membrane did not offer enough resistance for them to actually start melting her flesh. The shots bit through the delicate wings and kept going, but she did not remain that lucky. More shots impacted on her chest and legs and Daenlith could hear the lethal magic sizzling and burning away her scales.

Then something massive and red flashed in front of them, obscuring the elf's vision. Wind howled past her, tearing at her ears and scarce clothes, deafening her with its roars. Too soon the Scarab appeared in her view again, larger and more menacing than ever before. It truly was massive; large enough to hold at least two walkways on its side for people to run across, back and forth.

Aeraleth broke off just as Daenlith was certain that they were going to crash straight into the side of the vehicle, dropping all four of them onto the heavy metal surface. What transpired after that went by like a dream. It involved rolling to a stop against the sturdy hull of the Scarab, crawling upright and the world spinning in circles as a truly painful headache set in.

The three Starborn recovered much faster than she did. While she was still in the process of checking if her clothes properly covered her body and climbing to her feet, they were already moving to take the Scarab.

"Haze, take the left. Night, with me on the right," Graveyard snapped, augmenting his words with quick movements. "Elf, cover Haze and keep moving."

Daenlith, too sore and battered to even feel insulted at the disrespectful tone, merely nodded in agreement and braced herself against the smooth metal of the side of the Scarab. It felt…odd. Like it was breathing…singing. She had to be damaged more than she had thought, if she came to such conclusions.

At least she now knew what the third soldier was called, for all the good that did. She pulled herself together once more and reluctantly followed the soldier with his face-concealing helmet, moving further into the Scarab along the side-lines. It was from that position, high up in the air, that she could see the place she was fighting in. It was a human city alright, surrounded by blackened rings that could have once been called "walls". There was a castle somewhere in the middle of the city, but that too had been reduced to smoking debris. Actually, only a few buildings were left intact, while the rest seemed to have been razed to the ground. This conflict could have taken place in ancient ruins for all the cover and ambush-positions everyone had.

Big purple machinations were lobbing enormous balls of white magic into the air, which slowly descended onto the frantically-scattering pockets of defense. Flying vessels sped through the sky, occasionally strafing targets on the ground with their weapons. Only a few of them actually broke off to deal with the dragons, which were still harrying the walker.

Daenlith didn't see how that worked out. Instead, she followed the soldier called Haze further down the ramp of the Scarab, where they passed underneath the joint of one of its massive hind-legs. She could hear gunfire and explosions and screams, but they didn't encounter any enemies until they had made their way to the back of the vehicle. Haze stopped to scan his surroundings for the enemy, but Daenlith kept going. They had been dropped onto the surface of this thing for a reason and even though she knew next to nothing about the military tactics that went into fighting this Covenant, she could recognize the logic behind it all. They were going to strike at a weak point and hopefully cripple the machine long enough for allies to finish it off.

She rounded the corner at the rear of the Scarab, not knowing what she should expect from a device that breaks all the rules of what she could understand by simply _existing_. At the same time as her, the soldiers Graveyard and Night appeared on the other side of what appeared to be a chamber with two entrances. In the center of the chamber stood two massive aliens, one clad in golden armour and one clad in bright, blue armour. Both of them wielded the unnecessarily-large rifles with knives attached to them and as she had come to understand about these creatures, they immediately jumped into action.

Her surroundings and very perception of reality seemed to blur and warp. Movements slowed down and her heart sped up beyond what she could consider to be healthy for her body. The yellow alien bellowed in its guttural tongue and jumped at Graveyard, even as Night jumped aside and opened fire. The long and unwieldy rifle that the Starborn carried with him soon proved to be a lethal mistake; he could not maneuver nor escape from the sudden attack and with the lumbering monster bearing down on him, his only choice was to meet it head-on.

"Watch out!" Night yelled, his rifle only barely managing to get the attention of the second alien. Somehow, Graveyard managed to dodge the large blade of the weapon that was being flung at him and he hastily backed up, bringing his weapon to bear.

But his foe was still faster. It dropped its weapon altogether and went berserk, grabbing the soldier with both of its large claws and lifting him in the air by his throat.

Graveyard moved as if it was the most natural thing to do for him. He didn't even bother to stop the iron grip on his body and instead used his hands to pull out several spherical objects, which he seemed to rip apart before throwing them into the chamber of the Scarab. At the same time he wrapped his legs around the arms that were crushing the life out of him-

-someone leaped at Daenlith from behind, pushing her to the ground with its body. The small spheres clattered to the ground and the last thing she saw was Graveyard, giving a mighty heavy and pulling the golden-clad creature with him over the edge of the walkway they had come dangerously-close to during their skirmish.

The remaining alien didn't even possess the time to act before the spheres violently detonated, filling the chamber with heat and light and razor-sharp pieces of metal, all of which either bounced off of or lodged themselves into Haze as he covered the elf with his body.

With nothing left alive to stand between the remaining alien and the deadly waves of energy and shrapnel, its armour seemed to simply come apart by itself. It burned and shattered and fell to the ground in large fragments, which made it even more vulnerable for Night's thundering fire. Blood coated the walls and in turn gave Daenlith the incentive she needed to magically reach out for the fallen alien weapon and fling it at the wounded foe, splitting its chest open with the sharpened blade. The usage of magic drained her body of what little energy it possessed and her arm slowly dropped to the floor as well, far too heavy for her to

Haze eased himself off of her, red blood dripping from the various holes punched through his body. He didn't seem to be fazed by it, because he slowly rose and turned to stare at the vacant spot in the air where Graveyard and the Brute had been wrestling just seconds ago. Despite the nonstop thundering of weapons and the earth-shaking steps of the Scarab, it felt eerily quiet. Night walked up to the dead body of the alien, shot it twice in its head and then turned to look at what had to be a key component of the Scarab's interior.

It was some sort of wall, with blinking lights and bulbous sections. A cross of strange machinations…tubes and patterns…she couldn't even begin to comprehend the meaning behind it.

"Light it up," Haze spoke. The moment he spoke, Night took aim at the gleaming barriers in front of the metal and unleashed a salvo of projectiles, which tore through the machine-core only after several seconds of sustained, deafening fire.

With the protective cover blown to pieces, the true contends of the Scarab's core was revealed. Hundreds upon hundreds of orange worms were pulsating life, attached to the machine as they were. Their sight filled Daenlith with disgust, but she couldn't muster the strength to get worked up by it. She didn't even bother to watch as Night and Haze blew the remaining pieces of technology to smithereens with their guns. No, instead she crawled to the nearest wall and sat down against it, closing her eyes for a few moments to reflect on what had transpired.

She barely had the time to register that this war had claimed the life of another person she knew before a shrill alarm filled the air, roughly rousing her from her brief moment of rest with its loudness.

"Seven seconds, move out!" someone yelled. Before she knew it, the elf was hauled from the ground and pulled along with the soldiers.

* * *

With small, nearly wavering movements, Elva stepped inside of the cave. Her heart beat faster than ever before and her nerves jumped at every single noise of war in the background. A part of her was deeply afraid of the huge and irreversible step that she was about to take. Another part of her was disgusted with the fear, knowing that she of all people deserved a chance for something better.

A cool breeze carried an unfamiliar scent past her, whipping up strands of white hair and tugging at her sleeves. It had been hard to find clothes that would fit her new proportions and curves, but not impossible. Still, she had the feeling that she was underdressed for the occasion. Maybe it was the idea that she would finally be relieved from all the suffering and pain…or maybe it was the idea that she was going to meet an individual who carried as much power as the dreaded king himself.

Taking a deep breath, the witch-child made her way deeper inside the damp bowels of the earth, where the smell of humidity was even worse than near the entrance. The instructions had been perfect, without flaws. Neither human nor monster had noticed her slipping away during the battle and not even the massive engines of war that the Covenant brought with them had noticed her. Like a whisper in the night.

"Greetings, Rider," she loudly spoke, addressing the being whom she had risked it all for. "I have come here to seek you out."

She could _feel _the woman's presence, but nothing more. Not her thoughts, her fears and emotions. Nothing. Either it was protected so intensely that even _she _could not sense it…or there wasn't anything to be felt.

"And you have come a long way indeed," a voice echoed back via the dark walls of the cave, impossible to be traced back to a single source. "With a title I have not heard in decades."

"My name is Elva." She clenched her fists and spoke the sentences that she had been practicing and fantasizing over for hours at an end. "I came here with a proposal of allegiance. The conflict between the Varden and the Empire holds too much suffering…too much _pain_. I am loyal to neither, but forced to carry the burdens of both."

"You are the mess-up, yes?"

Elva swallowed both her ego as the rising sense of anger and continued. "Born of magic, indeed. An ill-spelled curse was spoken over me when I was but a newborn…and it forces me to experience the pain and terror and dread and _horror_s of the people around me. I want this conflict to end…and my wishes correlate with your own."

"Do they now?"

_Where did she speak from? _"Yes. And I know I can help you. I can help you obtain that which you are so desperate to obtain…I can help make the Empire and the rebellion fade away and subjugate the Starborn ancient humans."

"You would help reach your own goal?"

"Our goal. No wars, no conflict. An end to my suffering."

A hand touched her shoulder and Elva froze.

"Your malediction was not born from magic, young one," a voice whispered in her ears. Elva could feel something warm and tall behind her, radiating a _presence _unlike she had ever felt before. It felt like power…but more. Magical prowess, confidence, _malice_. It was a presence she would long remember.

The witch child did not dare turn around, lest she incurred the wrath of a force she did not fully understand.

"But before I explain the nature of your true curse…I must know that you are useful to me."

Elva swallowed. _Now or never. _There would be no going back after this. "I know things. Important things. Things about those that went before us…weapons of terrible, terrible power…and a name. It could be _his _true name."

"His?" The Rider's voice was like a whisper, silent and in full control, but filled with so much more longing and passion that she had heard in a long time.

"Yes Formora," Elva spoke, finally turning around to face the elf who would change her future. "The Spartan's. You need not kill him if he is under your control."

The creature smiled, revealing her pointed teeth. "I would like that. Well then, Elva, we shall wait for this senseless conflict to cease before making our move. As soon as Spartan belongs to me, I shall end this war. You have a Rider's promise."


	35. Fall of ages pt III

**To: M.O. Parangosky.**

**Subject: possible SPARTAN-II augmentations on non-SPARTAN personnel.**

_**Message:**_

"_Margaret, I would like to address some of my more pressing concerns. Lately I have come across individuals who carry themselves with the distinctive gait of…well, not humans. Not normal ones. You know what I mean; the fluency, the confidence, the sub-human manner of moving. The problem is…these are not Spartans, neither II's nor SS's. New special forces? Spooks? Of course it could well be my own imagination…but I would like to know for sure. Did you by any chance authorize the augmentation procedure on individuals not meant to be Spartans? And if so, what do you mean to do with them?"_

_**Signed: General E.D. Randalls.**_

* * *

"_You've trapped yourself."_

Maine shook his head. It was dark; he couldn't see. "Where am I?"

"_Don't you recognize my voice?"_

His chest hurt. Burned. Itched. "Where are you?"

"_Inside."_

Hands felt numb. Head pounded. Legs twitching. Was he out of time? What was going on?

"_Can you hear me?"_

Yes, he could. He could. But why? And how? Something terrible had happened…and he had been involved.

Maine grunted, his voice sounding like it came from underwater. Far away. Damaged. "Where are we?"

No answer. Strange. He would have to solve this himself.

He flexed his muscles, unsure of what was going on to him. His body hurt, breathing was hard. Was that Aeraleth he heard?

It appeared that he was lying on the ground. Rocks and sand lay scattered around him, as well as bodies. Pools of dark blood covered the ground…and he was slick with the stuff too.

The Spartan took a slow breath and immediately winced when he did. Something more than just air entered his lungs; it tasted like burnt plastic and blood and burned in his throat. His chest, too. His heart was beating much faster than it should...was he supposed to be blind?

He tried to get upright and felt that he wasn't really able to. His limbs didn't move the way he wanted them…they either cramped up or didn't respond at all. And that whining…there was some sort of shriek whining going off inside of his helmet. Or was that his head?

No, he recognized it. It was definitely his helmet. His HUD was rebooting, but there seemed to be problems. His motion tracker flickered a few times, but he didn't see any contacts. His shields were completely down…but they didn't recharge. They stayed down.

Hence the alarm, apparently.

Breathing was still one of the less-possible things to do. Was he choking? If so, what on? It wasn't blood; his mouth felt blisteringly dry.

Maine grunted softly and forced himself upright. Blood leaked from his body, both alien as human. Red and purple, blue…even orange. Strange. He didn't remember being hurt or…well, he remembered hurting others. He looked around the bodies again. Grunts, Brutes, Jackels, Hunters…the familiar broken corpses. But also human ones; Varden soldiers who had died against the Covenant, fighting with their own weapons…and UNSC weapons alike, strangely.

He eyed a discarded Assault Rifle as well as a shattered shotgun. They were far removed from the human bodies, but they still had red blood on them. The humans had been killed while wielding their arms. No sign of plasma damage or projectiles; beaten to death by a Brute or Hunter, probably.

A shame.

Another lance of pain shot through his chest. His limbs were trembling and his sight blurred. He had been wounded –where? His chest?

With no small amount of exertion, Maine reached for his chest-plate to feel for any damage or projectiles that had punctured his MJOLNIR.

Most of the chest-plate had been completely melted away. The heavy plates were smoldering and leaking hydrostatic gel from almost every crack and tear, mixed with red blood. Underneath the shattered sections, he saw patches of carbonized bone.

Only then did he notice the burning; along his arms, his chest and the front of his legs. Blistering, burning. It was nauseating and a growl of pain escaped his throat, inaudible due to the ringing in his head. His armour had melted and adhered to parts of his body.

He couldn't prevent a cry of pain. Panic boiled up in his stomach and he had nothing to push it back down again. He couldn't focus his mind on other things, because there _were _no other things. He was alone in a field of corpses and he had no memories of the battle or his injuries.

Think. He had to think. Plasma had hit him, and he couldn't slip into unconsciousness or coma. He had been aware…just not really _aware_. He had been fighting a battle…but now that the last edges of the adrenaline and hormones were slipping away, the pain and fatigue returned. His organs couldn't run on pure adrenaline alone and now they were failing.

Maine groaned and collapsed. He couldn't breathe, couldn't get his legs to obey. Nothing worked! His damn body wasn't good enough.

Blood drippled from his mouth, splatting against the cracked visor of his helmet. His HUD flickered once, but nothing improved. Was his MJOLNIR trying to fix him with medical injections and the like? Or had those been destroyed, too?

He didn't know. He didn't know anymore. He couldn't even see straight, let alone think. Things moved in the distance and the city was one ruined piece of debris, but…he was alone. Alone on the battlefield. A fallen warrior.

Had he become another casualty? Had the time finally come for him to die? But he didn't want to go…he had things to do. People to save.

Maine tried to push himself up again, but his arms buckled. He could see a patch on his ribs, too. Molten. Blackened. Just as the Covenant left all their victims.

His helmet hit the bloody ground again, leaving him to stare at the broken bodies of the Varden soldiers, amidst the corpses of the Brutes and Grunts. One left a vague imprint of recognition, but nothing more.

How long had he been lying there? Would there be survivors searching for other survivors? Should he risk pushing himself beyond his limits to get to safety, or should he wait it out?

He didn't know. He probably wouldn't find out.

Time always seemed to turn into a concept whenever this happened. It could be minutes, it could be hours. Shadows descended in his vision, blotting out his view and making the ground shake. It was black…and massive. Massive enough to completely envelop his body with its shadowy appearance.

_Aeraleth…_he thought. She had come…in the middle of all the chaos and the pain, his friend had come for him. She was always there to catch him when he fell. And this time, he had fallen.

He couldn't even begin to broaden his consciousness to contact her, but he didn't need to. He couldn't really feel her presence like he could when he touched her, but that didn't matter. He trusted her to protect him now

Heavy breathing, ticking claws. A thick, pungent stench that his malfunctioning helmet didn't quite filter out. It felt…wrong. A heavy feeling in his already painful-feeling stomach. He ignored it; he always ignored everything that he didn't understand.

And a figure strode towards him, too vague for him to focus on. He could see slim shoulders, slender legs and long hair.

And pointy ears.

"Daenlith," he whispered. His throat hurt too much for him to do anything else, but that didn't matter. In his darkest hour, he was not alone. He knew what had happened; he had lost himself, completely. To the dark rage. The black hate. The aggression-fits and madness that overcame him with an increasing frequency. But they were here now, and things would be alright.

"Not exactly," the figure whispered back. She sat down next to him and dragged a finger across his helmet, gently. Almost loving.

A moment of panic overcame him, though he didn't know why. His body just jumped at her touch, as if she electrocuted him with but her presence.

Maine blinked away the vagueness in his eyes and exhaled, trying his best to focus his deteriorating mind. He saw pale skin, elongated ears and blood-red hair.

His already-unstable breathing rose in pitch. His heart fluttered. Not a friend. A threat. He had to kill her.

But he couldn't. He was unable to move. His limbs were too weak and he had to fight with everything he had to even stay conscious. How would he get out of this? How could he win this confrontation?

He couldn't stay awake. Something was pulling at the back of his mind, dragging him away from the things that went on around him.

Her finger came away slick with hydrostatic gel and blood, which she observed for just a moment. "It seems even you have your limits."

She didn't have anything that she could threaten him with. She had to know that.

His vision flickered again, before going dark once more. He heard screaming and shouting inside his head. His name being called. Female voices, begging him to respond. He wished he could.

He remembered. How the fight had gone. The Covenant, the capital, the allied forces. The city being overrun, the survivors being hunted down and killed. The Hunters with their bond-brothers, the ones he never saw coming.

The humans fighting in the melee, easily mistaken for more Covenant.

A small figure was sitting on a rock, frail and feminine. Tatters of clothes clung to her body and she stared at him like he was going to suddenly jump up and murder her. If so, she knew him better than most.

Then again, maybe not.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

Maine didn't acknowledge her. He didn't even recognize her voice. At this point, she was the least of his worries. If he couldn't get himself to think clearly, he would die from shock. His vital signs would crash and he would pass out, after which he would not recover again. He could feel it in his body; the only reason he was still alive was because his suit was pumping him full of biofoam. And that wouldn't last long, either.

"I didn't want it to go like this."

Where was he even? Was it naturally this dark, or was that just him? He couldn't afford to slip away now. He had to stay awake. He had things to live for.

"But you left me no choice! Your people brought their war with them!"

He knew her voice. Eragon's screw-up…impossible. She was a little girl, not…not nearly adult.

"It will never end, will it? You said so yourself. Three decades of war and look where you are now? Fighting yet another war."

This couldn't be just Eragon's screw-up. Magic on this world wasn't what it seemed to be; there had to be something more to it.

He couldn't see anymore, so he had to use his other senses. Apart from the blood pounding in his ears, he heard a vague echo to Elva's voice. A cave or a massive room. Aberon had been destroyed, so it had to be a cave. Someone had taken him away from the battlefield to the cave-systems at the side of the desert, and the witch-child was too weak to do so. The Covenant? No, they wouldn't work together with anything human-shaped.

So what had been strong enough to drag him off, all the way here?

He couldn't remember. It had _just _happened! Why couldn't he remember? He knew that there was something going on, he _knew _that someone had. He was in danger, but _how!_

"I am tired of all your wars. Humans will always end up killing each other for the most farfetched reasons, and who is left to suffer for it?"

Well, he was the one dying from plasma-burns, not her.

"She promised to make it end. She would make it end."

Who would?

For the first time, Maine wished that he had enough strength left to talk. Ask the girl what she meant, or threaten her with violence and death should it be needed. But he couldn't. Where were his allies? The others?

More echoes through the cave. Some might have been rocks falling, others might have been footsteps.

"I don't know how. I don't care. As long as it stops."

The girl was delusional. The only way to end a war was to win it. How would she win this war? For that matter, who had she allied herself with?

Something touched Maine's helmet and he flinched. His temperature was elevated beyond healthy parameters, but he still felt a chill run down his spine. Was it fear? More panic? Molten metal cooling down?

"At last he has come to," a voice spoke. He recognized the voice, but again could not link it with a name. He did not like hearing that voice, though.

"How can you tell?"

Elva had not known that he was conscious? Then why had she been talking to him?

"Scents. Now step aside; we do not want our Rider dying prematurely."

The Spartan flexed his fingers and clenched his fists. It didn't quite work, but he moved his arms a bit. He had a small amount of energy left to strike, the moment an opportunity presented itself. One impact was all he needed.

She knelt down next to him and stared at his eyes with her own, blood-red ones. Straight through his visor, which was still caked with fresh blood. "There we meet again, Maine."

His temper flared. She did not have the right to call him by his name.

She broke the lingering contact they had first, looking down at his ruined chest. She placed her hand, with the metal talons still attached to her fingers, right below his throat. The metal ticked strangely against his plate. "This might be problematic…"

Why did she care?

She turned her attention to his side, positioning herself nearly on top of him. Nearly close enough for him to reach out and grab her by her hair…but something stopped him. It was as if he didn't _want _to strike her. "Well Elva, here he is."

"Yes," the girl muttered.

"What will you do now?"

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

A powerful lance of mental energy plunged itself in Maine's mind, too powerful and smooth to resist. At the same time, he used the last of his energy to snap upright and lash out at the woman, throwing a fast hook at her throat.

She leant backwards and redirected his strike, slamming the palm of her hand into the center of his visor, which cracked.

"I like the feel of your armour," she whispered. The mental barb tore deeper into Maine's mind, sinking through his attempts at defense and introducing him to the forms of pain he had never learnt to banish. The elf dragged her claw along his chest again, lightly tapping against his charred rib. "I think you and I are going to become very accustomed soon. You just see. Elva? Do your thing."

No memories. No call-sign. Nothing he could use to defend himself. He was utterly spent and utterly alone. He didn't generally feel such things as fear…but at that moment, he wasn't sure what to feel.

Tired. Cold. Empty…drifting.

So tired.

So cold.

* * *

Eragon looked around the interior of the ship, not knowing what to feel at the moment. On one hand, he was surrounded by monsters that could make an urgal cry in fear. On the other hand, they didn't look particularly malicious at the moment. The five Grunts were casually leaning against the dark-purple interior of their dropship, comparing their weapons and occasionally bumping each other with their stocky, oversized limbs. Their helmets were so…different. Metal masks that were different from the UNSC.

Two of the Sangheili were piloting the ship, which they called a "Phantom". Eragon could imagine how the ship was like a Phantom; dark, sleek and barely visible in the night. Four other warriors were standing in rigid positions, looking at nothing in particular. They were all clad in black armour and outfitted with a wide array of weapons, none of which he had ever seen before.

Arya and one of the Sangheili were discussing how to operate in the forests, while Wallcroft kept a close eye on them. Yaele was sitting on the floor, with her hands on her knees and her watchful gaze aimed at the Grunts.

"These forests are perilous," Arya said. Her ODST suit was scratched and dented, but not as battered as Wallcroft was. Then again, the ODST himself looked a lot cleaner. A nightly dive into the sea would do that for you. "Landing there will be dangerous."

"A march across enemy territory would be foolishness; we land as close as possible," the massive alien replied. His reptile-like eyes were a bright shade of green, not unlike Arya's. The dark slit in its pupil was more distinctive though.

"There are no open fields. The magic would harm this vessel."

"We have no need of open fields, elf. Once the battle is located, we shall join it from the center."

"You mentioned others," Wallcroft offhandedly remarked. "How many of you are there?"

One Sangheili huffed and looked at the other, who lowered his head and grumbled softly. The tension was obvious.

The commander turned towards the Starborn with an indecipherable expression. "Our Carrier lies at the edge of the system, waiting for the signal."

"Then send the signal," Sergeant Crane said. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw clenched.

The commander turned back to Arya, who hadn't taken kindly to being interrupted. "Were it so easy. We must first determine the nature of this world before our brothers can join us in the fight. We were sent with stealth."

"A reconnaissance mission?" Richard asked. "Since when do the Sangheili scout first?"

It was hard for Eragon to focus on the conversations that were going on around him. `He couldn't bring himself to care about what they said. He felt somewhat numb inside. Couldn't get the memories of the Brutes out of his head. The screaming, the dying. The raging fires. It was there every moment he closed his eyes…every time he wasn't immediately occupied with something.

"The Jiralhanae are too hard-pressed to afford wasting ships," the Sangheili leader explained. "Their behavior baffles us. Commando teams were dispatched, scattered across this land. We encountered resistance, but did not meddle with the locals."

He had fought through legions of Empire soldiers and killed his first men and women at an age boys could barely be considered mature and seen the worst side of humans –only to find out that none of it had mattered in the end, because empires far greater than his enemy lay in waiting behind the stars. Cities had been turned to dust, armies to ruins and families torn apart, all because of some greater play he could not understand. The future of this world was uncertain, and nothing depended on him or anyone down on the surface anymore.

So why did it matter?

"A general rendezvous has been issued; Aberon is under heavy Covenant attack and they need all UNSC assets they can get," Wallcroft quietly said. "I hope this mission of yours is worth it."

Eragon couldn't get the fights out of his head. It was as if his mind brought him back there every single time he tried to think of something else; even when he was aware of it, he couldn't change it.

The Sangheili grunted, flexing his fingers. "After we cleanse the forests, we will set for our allies and wipe out all Jiralhanae. Then we may decide on what to do with this world."

Just another passing comment that Eragon let pass. When the moment came, he would figure out what to do.

The dropship didn't immediately land; first it hovered over a patch of trees, which Eragon could see on an internal screen. He saw the many fires that raged through the forest, the trees that were on fire.

He couldn't muster the passion to care.

"Leader," one of the Sangheili growled. "The Brutes are pushing towards a central city with heavy armour and infantry. "

"If only we had the Hunters," Another one said.

"Brothers!" the commander then barked. He balled a fist and turned to face the present aliens, including the Grunts. "Stand firm! This forest is an enemy to us all, but the Brutes have nothing to guide them!"

They roared or growled, readying themselves for combat, while Eragon just gripped his rifle closer. There was no need for anything fancy or flashy before a fight; he just needed to be focused.

A central sort of hole seemed to open up, in the middle of the dropship. One by one the Sangheili stepped into it and seemed to fall out of the ship, but that didn't worry him too much. After all, why would these aliens just jump to their deaths before a fight?

Then again, the ship might just be hovering close enough to the ground to permit their survival. Either way, he would survive a fall of sufficient height without permanent injuries.

Eragon stepped into the hole and felt something lunge at his stomach. It was a sickening sensation, like he was about to throw up. His descent went slow and controlled, as if he was moving through water instead of air. A faint beam seemed to guide him all the way down, where the Sangheili were already taking up their positions.

What seemed like advanced magic to him was in fact technology. If they had _this,_ why were wars still necessary? It was so infuriating to know that, years and years of advancement and development, there were still people fighting and dying in battles that lost their relevance in history.

As soon as Eragon touched the ground, he moved to the nearest tree for cover. His allies drifted out of the ship too and he took a good look around the dark forest, scanning for enemies. At the moment, it looked like he was safe. But the trees…so many of them were on fire. The smoke was thick and reminded him of Melian. It wasn't the most pleasant of memories.

The Grunts were excited. Two of them were still hefting their giant, green guns and the other two had their pink needle-firing weapons. The last one –the one who looked the most enthusiastic- carried duel plasma pistols.

"Onwards warriors!" The commander snapped, after which half the Sangheili suddenly turned invisible and disappeared into the woods. The remaining two –both wielding two blue rifles and keeping their blades at their belts- spread out in a thin formation, leading the way. The Commander seemed to be among the invisible, which puzzled Eragon somewhat. Normally, leaders fought alongside their troops in war, both to inspire them and to defend their honor. Then he had learnt that there was no honor or glory and that victory was all that mattered. So why was the leader of an intelligent and advanced race fighting on the front lines? It just didn't make sense.

The distant fires were growing closer and the smoke grew denser and thicker, to the point that their helmets were the only things keeping them breathing. How the Sangheili did it, he didn't know. He did know to keep a close eye on Arya; she might be as disillusioned as he was with life as they knew it, but she took it so much worse. She was growing a bit…unstable. He wanted to make sure that she would find a way to deal with this all.

Up ahead were the sounds of combat that he had grown accustomed to. A squad of Grunts was happily firing its green shots of magic into the foliage, where dark figures were darting back and forth to dodge the fire.

Eragon noticed that the Covenant had penetrated deeper than the Empire ever had; they just had to shoot every tree they encountered once to set it on fire and after that, they could move on. Burn everything behind them and mercilessly push forwards. It was a sound strategy to beat the elves in their own environment, but there was just one problem. Two, actually. If they failed to advance quickly enough, they would be pinned by the very fires that they had created to drive their foes out.

The second one was that they left their rear guard completely open for forces that advanced quick enough to catch up to them, as they soon found out.

Wallcroft was the first to catch a target. He sighted in with his rifle and pulled the trigger, unleashing a burst of metal projectiles that tore a path through the forest and caught a Grunt in its face. The small alien dropped dead without ever getting the chance to warn its allies, three of which were the next to get downed with headshots.

After that, Crane opened fire. His fire was different from the ODST's in that he didn't aim at a general enemy; he shot at the entire group with fast shots that didn't even hit anything. It caused the enemy to rapidly move out and take cover, getting bogged down in the process. Some of them returned fire, but there was an extremely trigger-happy Grunt on the UNSC's side, who just spammed the enemy's position with searing fire that burned straight through their cover.

_It fires faster than the Sangheili with their weapons,_ Eragon thought with amazement. The green blobs of magic carved through wood and armour alike and two of the Brutes were completely exposed for the two Sangheili to cut them down with their own rifles.

"You Brutes very stinky!" It cried as it set half a dozen trees on fire with its duel pistols.

One of the Sangheili flanked to the right, allowing Eragon and Arya clear shots. Eragon aimed with the rifle just as Richard had told him and pulled the trigger too, spraying lethal projectiles down the range and further pushing the Covenant forces back. He saw a few Jackels sprint to the front, but one of the Sangheili burst from the foliage on their sides and sprayed them with blue fire, cutting them down too.

The other alien thundered down the front and clashed with one of the screaming Brutes, dodging a sluggish swipe from its bladed weapon and cracking its skull over with its rifle

The fight was over within seconds after that. Eragon and Arya combined their fire to bring down several Jackels with carefully-aimed shots and a few Grunts blew the entire area to smithereens with their over-sized guns, which shots were so powerful that everything not Sangheili was pushed back by the sheer pressure.

Wallcroft ran up to the last Brute, punched it in the jaw and watched it rise up again in pure rage. He then whipped out a knife and literally carved its throat open before the alien could even start rampaging, which seemed to be sufficient enough to stun it for a few moments.

Crane threw a large rifle at the ODST, which he caught one-handed before grabbing he barrel, sliding it up and down and firing one shot into the Brute's face, blowing half of it away.

The Grunt stopped at one of the bodies and snorted. "But I only shot it once…wait, shot it many times." Then he chuckled –though its high-pitched voice made it sound like a giggle. "Never mind."

Strange creatures, those Grunts.

"What next, nap?" another grunt asked.

"No, no! We go kill hairy furballs!"

"Quiet," one of the Sangheili growled. "This was just a small group. More up ahead."

The elves that had been fighting off the Covenant could not have known that the approaching group was not their enemy. Seeing as how this had been a moderately small group of Covenant, the natives must have already slain several members. At least they were still putting up a fight.

Arya stiffened and Eragon only had a few seconds to brace himself before the magical attack struck their group. Shields flared, Grunts shrieked and the Starborn cursed loudly before dropping to the ground.

Yaele shouted something before any of them could make a mistake and shoot an elf. The magical attack ceased and the Sangheili, who had dropped into low crouches and leveled their rifles, stayed where they were. Arya shook her head for a moment before joining her, just like when they had first arrived in Du Weldenvarden.

It took the entrenched elves a few moments to get out of the foliage, carrying bows and swords. They looked pale and grim, carrying themselves not with elegancy and pride, but caution and fear, like wounded animals. Eragon had only ever seen Arya really hurt, be it physical or emotional. He had long since understood that whatever mental discipline their race had, it did not extent to war. Humans simply fared better.

Upon seeing the Grunts, a race they must have undoubtedly faced before in these forests, the elves raised their weapons again and started shouting in alarm.

"We are not your enemies," Yaele firmly told them. Of course Arya didn't take the word; the ODST suit she wore would be the last thing her kin would trust in these dark times. "Did we not slay your foe? Vanquished their fire?"

The elves remained silent. There were only three of them, but they could still cause some damage if they decided that this was a ruse.

"We do not have the time for this," one Sangheili growled. "Elves, take heed! If you do not wish your homes to burn, you would be wise to fight the enemy, not us!"

Eragon felt that the statement was more than a simple threat. At least, it had to be. What reason did the Sangheili have to threaten allies?

The only male elf among the trio replied to Yaele with the Ancient Language, demanding to know who would ally themselves with monsters. Upon hearing that remark, Arya removed her helmet and showed her face. Her hair was tied back so that the face-revealing piece of armour could properly fit over her head and her eyes were more haunted than before, but even shell-shocked elves could not that it was their princess. They quickly stood down.

Eragon was surprised to feel that he had no patience for these lengthy courtesies and introductions, but more so that they were not even present. The trio simply nodded and joined their group without so much as a single complaint.

With the three anonymous elves on their side, the other Sangheili donned his cloak and disappeared as well.

"Now that's cozy," Crane muttered, turning to look at the elf females from behind his visor. He made it rather obvious for someone wearing a piece of equipment that hid his entire head.

"Do us all a favor and shut up, will you?"

The group advanced through the section of Du Weldenvarden, easily following the trail of destruction and death that the Covenant had left behind. It looked like the forest had come alive at several places, a testimony to the powerful magic that permeated the forest. Trees had uprooted, branches had curled around weapons and soldiers and entire clearings had been created by the animated parts of Du Weldenvarden.

As a testimony to the ruthlessness of the Covenant, those magical attacks had all been burned to dead husks. Energy blasts had carved through trees, magical fire had disintegrated branches and roots and only one unlucky Jackel had been killed by the attempt at defense. Its body was charred and smelled like burning flesh, having been hosed with fire along with the tree that had attacked it. Thousands of footsteps covered the ground and made the group realize just how large the enemy force was. Du Weldenvarden looked just like any other forest that had served as a marching ground for an army; trampled, damaged. Humiliated.

Eragon wondered what the elves would do with such a determined and furious invader. Most of them had left the forest already, directing their attacks to the surrounding Imperial cities to show that their spirit hadn't been broken yet. After the _When Duty Ends _had descended from the sky, things had changed. Islanzadí had moved back to the capital city to oversee the battles and other preparations…and the Covenant made no distinction between those they slaughtered. They had to get to her, no matter what.

On occasion, he thought that he heard the Sangheili who were stealthing through major parts of the journey. Moments after, they would encounter a party of Covenant forces left as a rear guard, slaughtered by magic fire and blades that ignored armour.

The stench of burning flesh grew thicker.

Too soon they reached the area where most of the fighting was taking place. Crane and Wallcroft were the first to duck down and take cover, quickly followed by the remaining Sangheili and the lance of Grunts. Arya gestured at Eragon and led him to an open space between two cut-down trees, allowing them a good sight on what was going on.

The Covenant had spread their army out along the flank of the capital city, flattening everything in their way. Occasionally, Dropships would come by and drop things like tanks and small one-man-operated vehicles that darted back and forth with more agility than horses. Ellesmera was on fire; trees that housed homes of families and friends fell to the ground in smoking pieces, warriors were shot down as they emerged from the woods to defend their loved and monsters clad in shining, shimmering armour and shields slowly advanced towards their prey.

Eragon felt a soft presence brush at his mind and he hurried to allow her in.

'_There is no magic to stop us,' _Arya told him. Being so close to the enemy, she did not dare talk aloud, it seemed. '_And neither does it stop them. Our defenses have been destroyed.'_

'_The Covenant does not tread lightly,'_ he grimly replied. '_Their weaponry is superior to magic.'_

'_I cannot stand this age of scorching firepower. They are besieging my home; slaughtering my people. We must stop them.'_

'_We will.'_

That being said, he had no idea how to stop them. There were five of them, including the Starborn soldiers, with about a hundred Covenant soldiers for each of them to take out. Even if they could-

"Watch out!" Crane suddenly shouted, jumping up from his cover and sprinting towards a different tree. Three of the hovering vehicles broke off from the main group and surged towards them, cannons flaring.

"The drives, Eragon!" Richard shouted, taking shots at the enemy with his sidearm. "Take out the drivers!"

He didn't need to hear that twice. Eragon dove underneath a salvo of blue fire and opened fire at the closest alien craft with his rifle, hoping to get its attention. Arya joined in, though she carried an alien rifle instead of a human one. The combined fire was enough to damage one of the vehicles and direct it towards them. The Brute controlling it increased its speed, intent on ramming them. It looked too bulky to fit into the vehicle, but he knew that it didn't matter.

"Thrysta!" Arya shouted, knocking the Brute out of its seat. The alien fell to the ground, rolled to a standstill against a tree and was about to get up and return fire when both Crane and Wallcroft unleashed a hellish crossfire, perforating it with bullets and putting an end to its movements.

"Shotgun," Sergeant Crane called, before jumping into the vehicle and starting it up again. By that time, the other two were speeding towards them as well, scorching the ground around them with their blue fire.

Their skirmish didn't seem to have gone unnoticed; Covenant soldiers broke off from the city and moved towards their position, screaming for blood.

Something moved in the bushes and with a bright flash of green, a salvo of arm-sized, glowing projectiles surged through the air. Two of them impacted on the leading vehicle and blew it to complete smithereens, turning it into little more than molten slag.

Eragon rolled aside to avoid being crushed by the last remaining vehicle. He jumped to his feet, squeezed off a few shots and was forced to jump over the vehicle as it returned for more. He could feel the purple metal underneath his legs come too close for comfort and he realized that he couldn't afford to jump over these things again; he might break his legs if he missed.

He took cover by a tree again while Richard stepped into the open, holding a brown sphere in his only good hand. Eragon knew from experience just how much damage those things could cause.

"Frag out!"

The vehicle, which was taking its time lining up the ODST and scorching through the flimsy tree that he had put between himself and it, could not dodge the grenade fast enough. It went off with a loud crack and the driver was flung from his seat, landing awkwardly on the ground. There, both Yaele and Arya combined their magical prowess to set it on fire and drive a sharp piece of metal into its skull, respectively.

Only the Brute didn't seem to realize that it had just been killed; it flung itself at the humans in their group with its berserking rage, bringing its arms down in a crushing blow aimed at Wallcroft's head.

The soldier cursed and dodged the strike, doing what any sane man in close-combat would do and pulling out his knife. The weapon might have looked fearsome at one point; large, with black hooks at one side and a sharp edge on the other. Against the Brute however, it looked more like a dining knife.

The alien threw himself at the ODST again, too close for the others to shoot it properly dead. It bulging muscles looked like they could rip a Kull in half –what chance did a normal human have against it?

Wallcroft sliced it across the stomach three times in quick succession, dove underneath a savage strike and carved a bloody path from its center of mass to its throat. He couldn't get much higher than that; the creature towered a good few feet above him.

Muttering something like "there we go again", Sergeant Crane discarded his weapon and lunged for the Brute. He wasn't the only one; something shimmered like the air above a fire and a dark figure strode towards the Brute from the foliage, not crouching but also not standing fully upright. It whipped its weapon down on the Brute's skull with a wet "crack", giving Wallcroft enough time to stagger backwards and leap for his weapon.

The alien turned around, faced the Sangheili and uttered a feral growl before receiving another blow to the head for its troubles.

It shuddered before sinking through its knees, falling to the ground like a limp doll.

"Over so soon?" the black-clad Sangheili growled, before using his blue rifle –which he was wearing with one hand- to gun down an approaching squad of Grunts.

"Guys, a little help here?" Richard shouted at them, toppling a trio of Grunts with his sidearm. While the majority of the Covenant forces were still preoccupied with burning Ellesmera to the ground, a few dozen still broke off from the main ranks to get a go at the humans with or without the pointy ears to gun down.

"Our leader located the monarch!" the Sangheili barked. "We should move now!"

It seemed that the five Grunts were doing better than their Brute-commandeered counterparts. The two with the pink weapons didn't even need to have good aim; their projectiles literally flew through the bushes, trailed their targets and embedded themselves deep within their flesh, whereupon they violently exploded.

So even these small aliens could become lethal when properly trained and equipped. Eragon was glad to have them on his side; those green cannons looked very heavy, and the Grunts in the back simply carried them with one arm.

Eragon, Crane and Wallcroft laid down a thundering suppression fire while the aliens moved to cover their flank, advancing deeper into the burning city. Fire and spikes filled the air and metal bullets tore through alien suits and flesh, covering the ground with blood. One of the Grunts fired off an explosive shot with its cannon, blowing a cluster of Jackels to pieces.

The Sangheili was faster than the Starborn. It guided them around collapsed houses, burning trees and raging Brutes while dealing quick and decisive blows on foes that stood in his way.

The leader located the monarch…the queen? Did the Sangheili think that saving Islanzadí would help them overcome the enemy?

Arya wouldn't be able to handle the loss of her mother. For that, saving the queen of the elves would be a good priority. But it couldn't be their actual _mission_; the Sangheili had come to this world with a mission already on their minds. So what was it? Why were they truly here?

Eragon couldn't keep a track of everything. So he prioritized as well; he kept Arya close to him and made sure that she pulled through. He synchronized his targets with her, covered her when they needed to move and pointed out targets with her. The Sangheili and the Grunts were forging a bloody path ahead, while the Starborn soldiers made sure that their flanks remained clear. They were loud and obnoxious in a way Eragon could only like; Sergeant Crane had wanted to take the Covenant vehicle with them, but he had only succeeded in flattening the thing against a pair of trees. Their attitude was enough to make him crack a smile now and then, which in turn made him believe that he could pull through.

"There lies the palace," Yaele commented, pointing at one of the only remaining structures that had not been destroyed. Corpses littered the ground before it, most of them elven. It hurt Eragon to see them lie there, broken and burned by a foe they had never seen coming.

The elves were not the only corpses around the structure, it seemed. Brutes, Grunts, Jackels...there were easily two dozen Covenant bodies as well. Carved apart by magical swords, shot by fire weapons…it seemed that the Sangheili group had cut through here as well.

The doors to the main hall had been sliced open; the edges of the wood were still smoldering.

"Our brothers wait ahead," the lone Sangheili left in charge of the Grunts said. "We will communicate our extraction –make haste, humans. We will not be waited for."

Extraction. Escape from this burning hell. Regroup and think of a way to strike at the enemy. Eragon had been fighting and moving nonstop for days –he needed a moment to think.

They moved deeper into the palace, encountering more slain elves and Covenant. Yaele took a moment to close the eyes of someone she must have known, before standing up and brandishing her sword again.

"With haste indeed," she commented.

Wallcroft nodded, looking around the blood-filled hall. "Damn waste."

The sounds of combat roused them from their brief moment of grief. There were still elves alive to resist the Covenant in their murderous slaughter –and Eragon would be damned if he let them die as well. If there was any goal in this war, it would be to protect those who could not protect themselves. As a soldier, not a Rider.

Arya and the Sangheili took up positions near the double set of doors, while Wallcroft readied his big gun again.

Wood shattered, people screamed and the ODST accelerated his plans and unloaded two projectiles at the doors, whereupon he kicked them in with enough force to blow them open.

The black Sangheili rounded the corner with his rifle raised, but he did not fire upon the individuals inside of the large room.

Eragon winced as four invisible Sangheili lowered their cloaks, dropping the dead bodies of several Brutes to the ground. Smoke billowed from their open wounds, where the white blades had carved through their thick flesh and fur like they weren't even there.

After that, mopping up the remaining Covenant in the large room only took seconds. Blades flashed, bullets impacted and magical fire tore down most of the walls as well.

Eragon caught a glimpse of the elven queen and her remaining guards, purple blood and scorch marks staining their normally-beautiful clothes, before the Sangheili in charge strode towards Islanzadí with large passes.

"What sorcery is this?" she demanded.

"You," the Sangheili called. "Do you answer to the title of "queen"?"

With narrowed eyes and slim lips, the elf nodded. "And who, or what, might I ask, are you?"

The alien snorted. Even though eves were exceptionally tall, he was taller than the queen. His chest was massive and his armour made him look as menacing as Spartan. "I am Special Operations Officer Osna 'Ranamai, leader of Separatist forces on this planet. You will come with us if you want to live."

The queen scowled and lowered her sword, which was sticky with alien blood. "I spent the last hours killing you monsters that dare damage our homes. You would show up here with humans and tell me to leave my people?"

The Sangheili reached out and grabbed Islanzadí by the front of her cloak, unhindered by Wards. The elves around her stirred, as did the Special Operations Sangheili around them.

"Yes," the alien bluntly told her, staring at her with his reptilian eyes. "We all have to make sacrifices. We must gather our troops if we wish to destroy this blight."

The elf placed a hand on Osna 'Ranamai's large fist, gently and calm. The Sangheili broke the menacing eye-contact that had been raising the tension in the hall, before sniffing in deep and letting go.

"These forests are all we have," the queen softly spoke. "If we leave them now…"

"If you do not leave them now, your people will follow the same fate."

Eragon reached for Arya's hand and watched the remaining Sangheili reach for their weapons and turn to face the door that they had just entered through.

"Time's up uglies," Crane called, raising his gun and moving away from the door. "The Covenant wants to steal our elves, so now we gotta kick their asses."

* * *

Aeraleth watched the man with pieces of see-through scales over his eyes kneel down next to the dead corpse of a Starborn soldier, taking a piece of metal from his neck while doing so.

" Damnit Wilks," the man muttered.

The body of "Wilks" didn't look like it had become one without a fight; its abdomen had been torn open, its guts were spilled and there was a hole in its head. Also, one of its arms was no longer attached to the torso. A messy, painful death as any.

But Aeraleth did not feel for the many deaths of the Starborn around her. Not only was her entire body aching from burning wounds, she was also missing something. Something very important. A piece of herself, unable to be found.

After she and the Red One had worked together with the Blue One to destroy the big mechanical creature, it had exploded violently. Violent enough to turn the rest of the giant human den into rubble and stones. Not the kind of stones that they could build with. So now the humans and dwarves were running around, gathering wounded and generally fleeing the den. Broken den.

But she wouldn't leave. The Red One's partner-of-mind had reunited with him and was now aiding the Starborn with gathering shiny objects and bleeding people. Her parent was nowhere to be found, though. In that she was alone.

The dragoness sighed with frustration and slammed her tail into the leftover husk of a smaller den, flattening it. Her wounds ached as much as her heart. Throbbing, pulsating, itching, everything. It was so bad that she couldn't even focus on the mind of her partner-of-heart, who was somewhere out there, fighting all on his own. The sky was getting darker; the air colder. And she could not find him! It was as if he had completely fallen away from her ability to feel him. That could mean only two things.

She didn't want to think about any of those.

Amidst the chaos, Aeraleth only allowed one person to come close. She only _wanted _one person to come close, that was. And she was about the only one who wanted to come close herself. Not many people seemed to miss her Rider these days; his allies used or feared him, elves and dwarves spurned and feared him and the hardened soldiers didn't trust him. Or feared him. That seemed to be a common thing with all these two-legged, be they of round ears, pointy ears or metal faces.

She was too busy taking in the environment, spotting enemy flyers and making sure dead things stayed dead to worry about the petty little opinions of petty little creatures. Her Rider was missing and that was all that mattered, really. But flying around and looking for him would get her killed; the enemy was preparing for another massive attack. One that would leave them all scorched and burned.

The elf made her way towards Aeraleth, moving with a distinctive limp. Of her once regal and dragon-like manner of carrying herself was nothing left. At least, not in the familiar manner. She was injured, perhaps even badly.

She directed her attention to the little elf and sniffed a few times. '_You smell singed,'_ she commented.

Daenlith sat down next to her and sighed deeply. She leant with her back against a rock, closed her eyes. '_You look singed.'_

Aeraleth exhaled a puff of smoke. That pointy-eared thing…

'W_here is Spartan?'_

Her Rider. '_Gone.'_

'_Where?'_

Aeraleth lowered her head and looked away.

The elf reached out and placed a hand on her flank. It looked singed as well. There was something wrong with her face; there was a large patch of strange, brown skin instead of the normal pale skin. Those same ones, one her arm. Her clothing existed out of torn white sheets and other loose pieces. She must have been unclothed when all of this began.

A flash of memory struck Aeraleth right as she was trying to puzzle it all together. Of course Daenlith was! She had been terribly wounded and her Rider…he had done everything he could to save her. It had been really nasty, if her memories were right.

If they were right. Lately, she had been having trouble with memory. The blood of her ancestors seemed to have disappeared; she could no longer call on knowledge that she had not gathered herself, leaving her lacking in wisdom at times she needed it the most. It was probably a phase of reaching adulthood…even though the others had not gone through such phase.

Had they?

'_Can you not feel him?'_

Aeraleth growled with annoyance. '_I am unable to!'_

'_Is that on your end of the bond, or his?'_

She flicked with her tail again, tearing down another wall. A rising feeling of aggression was starting to influence her thoughts, but she could not allow that to happen. '_I hope mine…I fear his.'_

'_Then there is only one thing we can do.'_

'_I know.'_

'_We must search for him.'_

Aeraleth placed her head on the ground. '_I know.'_

'_So why are we still here?'_

She snorted. '_Because you smell like you will fall over soon? Because the enemy controls every place around us, including this den?'_ She halted, trying to calm her feelings from overwhelming her thoughts. '_Because I do not know where to start. He is gone…and I cannot find him!'_

The Starborn soldier down the road left the body of his friend behind and moved on.

Daenlith shivered and placed a hand on her side. When she gave her reply, her mental voice sounded weak and vague. '_There are soldiers in this city…unlike the others. One of them died. Two are left. They might be able to help-'_

'_No!' _Aeraleth snapped, causing the elf to nearly fall to the ground. '_I do not trust them! We trust no 'one!'_

'_But you trust me,'_ Daenlith protested.

Aeraleth did not know how to respond to that. She didn't even know why she had lost her patience in the first place, let alone how to fix it. '_I fear I will lose him. That one day, his madness will carry him down a path I cannot save him from.'_

'_Madness?'_

'_That black plague infesting his mind. I first felt it when I was but a hatchling, no larger than him. It rests in his mind, waiting to be released. When it does…it consumes. He loses control.'_

The elf sounded surprised. '_I was not aware of this. Who else knows?'_

'_Perhaps his people. Perhaps no creature but me…and now you.'_

'_Aeraleth, this is dangerous.'_

The dragoness snorted deeply, singing the ground in front of her. '_You would fear him too?'_

'_Not at all. This madness you speak of…it can rebound across the link. It might already have.'_

'_What do you mean?'_

'_I mean that a sickness of the mind will be felt on both ends of the mental Bond. If you cannot feel him…'_

'_He must be hiding himself from me. To protect me?'_

'_That seems likely to me.'_

Aeraleth drew her tongue past her front teeth and contemplated what to do next. '_I cannot fly properly.'_

'_Yes.'_

'_You cannot walk properly.'_

'_Indeed.'_

She dug her talons into the ground and pushed herself up. Daenlith was taking this extraordinarily well…better than she expected. It was suspicious, but she couldn't linger the feelings of doubt.

'_I believe the Starborn are evacuating this city and following the civilians to the east. It means that the Covenant will attack soon.'_

'_Then we better hurry. Do you have a weapon?'_

The elf nodded '_Where do you believe he last fought?'_

Aeraleth pressed her shoulder to the ground and allowed Daenlith to climb her leg. She wasn't her partner-of-heart, but she was still the closest thing she had to a friend. '_Where he can always be found, no matter what.'_

'_The battlefield.' _Daenlith hesitated for some reason, not immediately climbing on top of Aeraleth's back.

'_Is something amiss?' _

It looked like she wanted to say something for a brief moment, but in the end the elf merely shrugged and slowly made her way to Aeraleth's neck. Once there, the dragoness took the air. Sher could oversee all of the den, as much as there was left. The walls had been obliterated, the big central building destroyed and the streets were littered with corpses and blood. Alien, human and dwarf.

She had not just been focusing on fighting the giant mechanical walker; she had been keeping an eye on all the fighting that had been going on during the conflict. She had seen dwarves throw themselves at their foes with their axes and blades, only to be utterly crushed for their courage. Magic fire and spikes had torn through their armour and bodies, crude alien melee weapons had made short work of everything they touched and a scarred monster with a massive hammer had been rampaging through the streets, killing Starborn and natives alike. Its hammer had possessed a curious effect; whatever it struck would get violently blown back, often with lethal results. It was if it could explode the air with simple strikes. Odd, as the monsters did not have magic.

No, the dwarves had not been useful combatants. Even the smaller aliens had been gleefully massacring the bearded ones, even though they were roughly the same size. The horned two-legs had had the most success in repelling the aliens and even they had taken much casualties.

Aeraleth wasn't sure whether to feel satisfied that her race was now not the only one risking extinction, or horrified. So she settled for neither.

Beyond the city lay the scorching plains of the desert, where more corpses lay rotting in the sun, waiting for the birds of prey to descent. Their carapaces and plating reflected the few rays of sunlight that still reached the land, like tiny facets of a gemstone. Or the corpse of a dragon.

It looked like carnage. The burnt-out husks of large vehicles were sporadically scattered among the corpses, burning with blue and purple fires. There was no trace of her Rider anywhere. Daenlith too did not see him, but that was only logical, because elves didn't even see as sharp as dragons did.

Aeraleth once again located the connection between herself and her Rider. Just as she caught a glimpse of the start of the enemy army, she felt a whisper. It was mostly pain –as was logical with her partner-of-heart- but there was also something else. Uncertainty…confusion…yes, those were normal too. Bu not in these amounts…something was wrong.

The next moment, she could the contact they had fall away. Like something crashed, or fell apart.

Panic took a hold of her heart and she turned towards the last location she had felt the faint touch of her Rider's consciousness. A dark hole, carved into the ground by time itself. Not usually something she would want to stick her head in, but…things changed.

'_Daenlith-'_

'_I see it.'_

Her Rider would be there, but there was no telling what else would be there with him. He would never willingly leave a battlefield as long as there were enemies left to fight. It just wasn't in his nature. She couldn't even fit her head down there, but she didn't deed to. She just had to tear the cave apart, stone by stone.

Aeraleth didn't bother to land. She swept down, allowed the elf to jump off of her and took off again. She could smell something foul, something pungent. A stench that she had carved into her memory, even though the names of the creatures had faded away.

She regretted allowing Daenlith in all on her own; she was too wounded to fight like a warrior now. She would most certainly perish if she were to encounter that hated enemy…her weapon had better be sharp and true.

Though her eyes and smelling were more keen than her hearing, Aeraleth could still hear talking coming from the cave. Noisy, mumbling two-leg-talk. She didn't hear her Rider's voice, which could mean multiple things.

The rock underneath her paws felt scorching hot, but it would be a while before the heat would damage the flesh underneath her scales. And in a while, they would be long gone.

Aeraleth started tearing the cave apart; digging her claws deep into the stones and shaking the ground with her violence. She was vaguely aware of strange sounds coming from the hollow rock she was peeling open, but she ignored those. Her Rider was too tough to be damaged by falling rocks and Daenlith was too fast.

The other dragons were helping the Starborn evacuating the city, perhaps by carrying supplies or wounded individuals. They should be capable enough to help the two-legs until they had all vacated their burning den. While the structures had been pretty to look at, they looked better by having been razed to the ground. There was a certain beauty in destruction that she couldn't quite understand. Stagnancy was a bad thing; if things stayed the same long enough, they would get boring. At least, that was what she believed right now. It might change into the future, but…that was then.

And this was now. And right now, she had a cave to destroy.

Through the cracks and tears she caused in the rough stone, she caught the occasional flicker of green light. She smelled a strange scent that she had smelled before during this fight; burning earth. It was a strange scent, different from burning wood. It made her feel uncomfortable smelling it; as if there was something approaching that she could not stop.

A consciousness brushed against hers and she allowed it in, recognizing the cruder-than-usual contact as Daenlith's.

'_Aeraleth, destroy this cave!'_

Destroy? That was exactly what she was doing, but a bit too soon. She didn't want to dig her Rider out of the rubble; what if he was wounded badly?

'_Do it now!'_

The panic that flowed through the contact was…odd. Closer to fear, actually. But that wasn't what was odd, that was only normal. No –what was odd was that emotions didn't generally seep through these shallow communications. And then there was the fact that elves didn't seem to _feel _the same as normal humans. So why?

Aeraleth stomped the stone roof with her hind legs, getting a few amusing cracks as a response to her violence. That wasn't yet enough.

Another stomp caused more pieces of stone to fall down, revealing a larger hole through which she could actually see movement. More green flashes, too.

Her next stomp was enough to whittle away most of the sides too, allowing her to fit her head in. And if her head fit into something, her limbs could tear that something into something with a very large hole.

She latched her claws onto the exposed stones at the sides and pulled them apart, crushing the rest of the roof and exposing everything that was taking place into that dark hole for the sky to see.

Aeraleth hesitated for a split-second before pushing herself further in, grabbing both her Rider as her elf with her claws, taking care not to crush them in the process. She then bathed the interior of the cave with flames hot enough to melt rocks and vaporize flesh, before pulling out viciously enough to nearly collapse the hollowed-out cave.

And when she left, she smashed her tail into the walls for good measure, completely collapsing it anyway. If that wasn't enough to get rid of the persistent predator, she had another plan to get her two-legs to safety. She pushed off with her powerful hind legs and spread her wings, waiting for the brief moment where her magical nature would rear its head and allow her to catch the wind that was not truly there, but came from other plains.

When it did, she dragged her wings back to her body and flapped them back again, propelling herself further. There was something terribly wrong; she could no longer feel her Rider's mind, even though there was nothing to separate them. Whenever he terminated the link, she would feel a horrible hole, as if something had been ripped from her. Every single time. Now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. A dark void that bordered on the edge of her sanity.

Aeraleth felt the heat of the day, cast down upon her back and wings. In the burning heat of the desert, she did not tend to last long. Her injuries burned and itched and her body was aching for a drop of water. There was absolutely no alternative to her goal of bringing her loved ones to safety, so she would keep going, but it wasn't the safest thing to do.

Daenlith was alive and conscious in her claw, but barely so. Her partner-of-heart…he wasn't moving. Limp.

Soon she encountered the rising columns of smoke that was the human den. Bodies lay sprawled across the ruined buildings, left to rot or be used as food for the enemy. Alien and human. Purple wreckages, brown wreckages, dark bodies and light bodies. In death, everything was equal to each other.

She dared not look at her partner-of-heart. His suit felt hot and burned her claws, even though the blistering fields of sand could not do the same. Strange scents came from the metal plates, smelling worse than the burning rocks.

The first signs of Starborn presence made itself known after a short time flying towards the giant mountain. There were gray and brown vehicles patrolling the area, hovering over a small cloud of dust in-between the two closest peaks. It was a wise idea; the Covenant would not easily find them there. That, and maneuvers were hard to perform.

Aeraleth only slowed down after passing two of the mountains, closely following the ships to make sure that she would not miss anything. Something felt wrong…more wrong than normal.

When her wings suddenly ceased to function properly and her grip on the magic wind fell away, she was forced to stop her journey and aim towards the ground. There was panic bordering in her mind, but she attempted to ignore it. It was no use panicking when there was a crisis at hand; why couldn't she use magic anymore?

And that was when the pain hit her. Mind-numbing, sanity-shattering and all-consuming pain. It spread through her entire body within seconds, leaving only agony and despair in its wake. Pieces of her mind crumbled and fell away, her perception of the world warped. A void welled within her chest, filled with a pain worse than any physical pain could ever match. It was sorrow and hate and terror and above all, overwhelming loneliness.

Empty claws tore and clawed at sand on the ground, uncontrolled. Mad. Something was wrong. Amiss. Broken. And through the paralyzing agony of life, her body found out on its own. Her mind was alone; her heart unaccompanied by the steady beat of the one most important to her. It was like a part of her had been violently torn away from her.

She was vaguely aware of movement by her front legs, where a tiny figure knelt down by another, armoured figure. Bringing a hand to its chest. Touching its face. She heard faint singing, low in pitch and sorrowful.

Aeraleth could no longer muster the will to scream. A cold emptiness washed over her, numbing her feelings and filling her with a feeling that she could only describe as dying. She wished it was.

Now, she was well and truly alone.


	36. Human nature

**To: M.O. Parangosky.**

**Subject: possible SPARTAN-II augmentations on non-SPARTAN personnel.**

_**Message:**_

"_Margaret, I would like to address some of my more pressing concerns. Lately I have come across individuals who carry themselves with the distinctive gait of…well, not humans. Not normal ones. You know what I mean; the fluency, the confidence, the sub-human manner of moving. The problem is…these are not Spartans, neither II's nor SS's. New special forces? Spooks? Of course it could well be my own imagination…but I would like to know for sure. Did you by any chance authorize the augmentation procedure on individuals not meant to be Spartans? And if so, what do you mean to do with them?"_

_**Signed: General E.D. Randalls.**_

* * *

"_You've trapped yourself."_

Maine shook his head. It was dark; he couldn't see. "Where am I?"

"_Don't you recognize my voice?"_

His chest hurt. Burned. Itched. "Where are you?"

"_Inside."_

Hands felt numb. Head pounded. Legs twitching. Was he out of time? What was going on?

"_Can you hear me?"_

Yes, he could. He could. But why? And how? Something terrible had happened…and he had been involved.

Maine grunted, his voice sounding like it came from underwater. Far away. Damaged. "Where are we?"

No answer. Strange. He would have to solve this himself.

He flexed his muscles, unsure of what was going on to him. His body hurt, breathing was hard. Was that Aeraleth he heard?

It appeared that he was lying on the ground. Rocks and sand lay scattered around him, as well as bodies. Pools of dark blood covered the ground…and he was slick with the stuff too.

The Spartan took a slow breath and immediately winced when he did. Something more than just air entered his lungs; it tasted like burnt plastic and blood and burned in his throat. His chest, too. His heart was beating much faster than it should...was he supposed to be blind?

He tried to get upright and felt that he wasn't really able to. His limbs didn't move the way he wanted them…they either cramped up or didn't respond at all. And that whining…there was some sort of shriek whining going off inside of his helmet. Or was that his head?

No, he recognized it. It was definitely his helmet. His HUD was rebooting, but there seemed to be problems. His motion tracker flickered a few times, but he didn't see any contacts. His shields were completely down…but they didn't recharge. They stayed down.

Hence the alarm, apparently.

Breathing was still one of the less-possible things to do. Was he choking? If so, what on? It wasn't blood; his mouth felt blisteringly dry.

Maine grunted softly and forced himself upright. Blood leaked from his body, both alien as human. Red and purple, blue…even orange. Strange. He didn't remember being hurt or…well, he remembered hurting others. He looked around the bodies again. Grunts, Brutes, Jackels, Hunters…the familiar broken corpses. But also human ones; Varden soldiers who had died against the Covenant, fighting with their own weapons…and UNSC weapons alike, strangely.

He eyed a discarded Assault Rifle as well as a shattered shotgun. They were far removed from the human bodies, but they still had red blood on them. The humans had been killed while wielding their arms. No sign of plasma damage or projectiles; beaten to death by a Brute or Hunter, probably.

A shame.

Another lance of pain shot through his chest. His limbs were trembling and his sight blurred. He had been wounded –where? His chest?

With no small amount of exertion, Maine reached for his chest-plate to feel for any damage or projectiles that had punctured his MJOLNIR.

Most of the chest-plate had been completely melted away. The heavy plates were smoldering and leaking hydrostatic gel from almost every crack and tear, mixed with red blood. Underneath the shattered sections, he saw patches of carbonized bone.

Only then did he notice the burning; along his arms, his chest and the front of his legs. Blistering, burning. It was nauseating and a growl of pain escaped his throat, inaudible due to the ringing in his head. His armour had melted and adhered to parts of his body.

He couldn't prevent a cry of pain. Panic boiled up in his stomach and he had nothing to push it back down again. He couldn't focus his mind on other things, because there _were _no other things. He was alone in a field of corpses and he had no memories of the battle or his injuries.

Think. He had to think. Plasma had hit him, and he couldn't slip into unconsciousness or coma. He had been aware…just not really _aware_. He had been fighting a battle…but now that the last edges of the adrenaline and hormones were slipping away, the pain and fatigue returned. His organs couldn't run on pure adrenaline alone and now they were failing.

Maine groaned and collapsed. He couldn't breathe, couldn't get his legs to obey. Nothing worked! His damn body wasn't good enough.

Blood drippled from his mouth, splatting against the cracked visor of his helmet. His HUD flickered once, but nothing improved. Was his MJOLNIR trying to fix him with medical injections and the like? Or had those been destroyed, too?

He didn't know. He didn't know anymore. He couldn't even see straight, let alone think. Things moved in the distance and the city was one ruined piece of debris, but…he was alone. Alone on the battlefield. A fallen warrior.

Had he become another casualty? Had the time finally come for him to die? But he didn't want to go…he had things to do. People to save.

Maine tried to push himself up again, but his arms buckled. He could see a patch on his ribs, too. Molten. Blackened. Just as the Covenant left all their victims.

His helmet hit the bloody ground again, leaving him to stare at the broken bodies of the Varden soldiers, amidst the corpses of the Brutes and Grunts. One left a vague imprint of recognition, but nothing more.

How long had he been lying there? Would there be survivors searching for other survivors? Should he risk pushing himself beyond his limits to get to safety, or should he wait it out?

He didn't know. He probably wouldn't find out.

Time always seemed to turn into a concept whenever this happened. It could be minutes, it could be hours. Shadows descended in his vision, blotting out his view and making the ground shake. It was black…and massive. Massive enough to completely envelop his body with its shadowy appearance.

_Aeraleth…_he thought. She had come…in the middle of all the chaos and the pain, his friend had come for him. She was always there to catch him when he fell. And this time, he had fallen.

He couldn't even begin to broaden his consciousness to contact her, but he didn't need to. He couldn't really feel her presence like he could when he touched her, but that didn't matter. He trusted her to protect him now

Heavy breathing, ticking claws. A thick, pungent stench that his malfunctioning helmet didn't quite filter out. It felt…wrong. A heavy feeling in his already painful-feeling stomach. He ignored it; he always ignored everything that he didn't understand.

And a figure strode towards him, too vague for him to focus on. He could see slim shoulders, slender legs and long hair.

And pointy ears.

"Daenlith," he whispered. His throat hurt too much for him to do anything else, but that didn't matter. In his darkest hour, he was not alone. He knew what had happened; he had lost himself, completely. To the dark rage. The black hate. The aggression-fits and madness that overcame him with an increasing frequency. But they were here now, and things would be alright.

"Not exactly," the figure whispered back. She sat down next to him and dragged a finger across his helmet, gently. Almost loving.

A moment of panic overcame him, though he didn't know why. His body just jumped at her touch, as if she electrocuted him with but her presence.

Maine blinked away the vagueness in his eyes and exhaled, trying his best to focus his deteriorating mind. He saw pale skin, elongated ears and blood-red hair.

His already-unstable breathing rose in pitch. His heart fluttered. Not a friend. A threat. He had to kill her.

But he couldn't. He was unable to move. His limbs were too weak and he had to fight with everything he had to even stay conscious. How would he get out of this? How could he win this confrontation?

He couldn't stay awake. Something was pulling at the back of his mind, dragging him away from the things that went on around him.

Her finger came away slick with hydrostatic gel and blood, which she observed for just a moment. "It seems even you have your limits."

She didn't have anything that she could threaten him with. She had to know that.

His vision flickered again, before going dark once more. He heard screaming and shouting inside his head. His name being called. Female voices, begging him to respond. He wished he could.

He remembered. How the fight had gone. The Covenant, the capital, the allied forces. The city being overrun, the survivors being hunted down and killed. The Hunters with their bond-brothers, the ones he never saw coming.

The humans fighting in the melee, easily mistaken for more Covenant.

A small figure was sitting on a rock, frail and feminine. Tatters of clothes clung to her body and she stared at him like he was going to suddenly jump up and murder her. If so, she knew him better than most.

Then again, maybe not.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

Maine didn't acknowledge her. He didn't even recognize her voice. At this point, she was the least of his worries. If he couldn't get himself to think clearly, he would die from shock. His vital signs would crash and he would pass out, after which he would not recover again. He could feel it in his body; the only reason he was still alive was because his suit was pumping him full of biofoam. And that wouldn't last long, either.

"I didn't want it to go like this."

Where was he even? Was it naturally this dark, or was that just him? He couldn't afford to slip away now. He had to stay awake. He had things to live for.

"But you left me no choice! Your people brought their war with them!"

He knew her voice. Eragon's screw-up…impossible. She was a little girl, not…not nearly adult.

"It will never end, will it? You said so yourself. Three decades of war and look where you are now? Fighting yet another war."

This couldn't be just Eragon's screw-up. Magic on this world wasn't what it seemed to be; there had to be something more to it.

He couldn't see anymore, so he had to use his other senses. Apart from the blood pounding in his ears, he heard a vague echo to Elva's voice. A cave or a massive room. Aberon had been destroyed, so it had to be a cave. Someone had taken him away from the battlefield to the cave-systems at the side of the desert, and the witch-child was too weak to do so. The Covenant? No, they wouldn't work together with anything human-shaped.

So what had been strong enough to drag him off, all the way here?

He couldn't remember. It had _just _happened! Why couldn't he remember? He knew that there was something going on, he _knew _that someone had. He was in danger, but _how!_

"I am tired of all your wars. Humans will always end up killing each other for the most farfetched reasons, and who is left to suffer for it?"

Well, he was the one dying from plasma-burns, not her.

"She promised to make it end. She would make it end."

Who would?

For the first time, Maine wished that he had enough strength left to talk. Ask the girl what she meant, or threaten her with violence and death should it be needed. But he couldn't. Where were his allies? The others?

More echoes through the cave. Some might have been rocks falling, others might have been footsteps.

"I don't know how. I don't care. As long as it stops."

The girl was delusional. The only way to end a war was to win it. How would she win this war? For that matter, who had she allied herself with?

Something touched Maine's helmet and he flinched. His temperature was elevated beyond healthy parameters, but he still felt a chill run down his spine. Was it fear? More panic? Molten metal cooling down?

"At last he has come to," a voice spoke. He recognized the voice, but again could not link it with a name. He did not like hearing that voice, though.

"How can you tell?"

Elva had not known that he was conscious? Then why had she been talking to him?

"Scents. Now step aside; we do not want our Rider dying prematurely."

The Spartan flexed his fingers and clenched his fists. It didn't quite work, but he moved his arms a bit. He had a small amount of energy left to strike, the moment an opportunity presented itself. One impact was all he needed.

She knelt down next to him and stared at his eyes with her own, blood-red ones. Straight through his visor, which was still caked with fresh blood. "There we meet again, Maine."

His temper flared. She did not have the right to call him by his name.

She broke the lingering contact they had first, looking down at his ruined chest. She placed her hand, with the metal talons still attached to her fingers, right below his throat. The metal ticked strangely against his plate. "This might be problematic…"

Why did she care?

She turned her attention to his side, positioning herself nearly on top of him. Nearly close enough for him to reach out and grab her by her hair…but something stopped him. It was as if he didn't _want _to strike her. "Well Elva, here he is."

"Yes," the girl muttered.

"What will you do now?"

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

A powerful lance of mental energy plunged itself in Maine's mind, too powerful and smooth to resist. At the same time, he used the last of his energy to snap upright and lash out at the woman, throwing a fast hook at her throat.

She leant backwards and redirected his strike, slamming the palm of her hand into the center of his visor, which cracked.

"I like the feel of your armour," she whispered. The mental barb tore deeper into Maine's mind, sinking through his attempts at defense and introducing him to the forms of pain he had never learnt to banish. The elf dragged her claw along his chest again, lightly tapping against his charred rib. "I think you and I are going to become very accustomed soon. You just see. Elva? Do your thing."

No memories. No call-sign. Nothing he could use to defend himself. He was utterly spent and utterly alone. He didn't generally feel such things as fear…but at that moment, he wasn't sure what to feel.

Tired. Cold. Empty…drifting.

So tired.

So cold.

* * *

Eragon looked around the interior of the ship, not knowing what to feel at the moment. On one hand, he was surrounded by monsters that could make an urgal cry in fear. On the other hand, they didn't look particularly malicious at the moment. The five Grunts were casually leaning against the dark-purple interior of their dropship, comparing their weapons and occasionally bumping each other with their stocky, oversized limbs. Their helmets were so…different. Metal masks that were different from the UNSC.

Two of the Sangheili were piloting the ship, which they called a "Phantom". Eragon could imagine how the ship was like a Phantom; dark, sleek and barely visible in the night. Four other warriors were standing in rigid positions, looking at nothing in particular. They were all clad in black armour and outfitted with a wide array of weapons, none of which he had ever seen before.

Arya and one of the Sangheili were discussing how to operate in the forests, while Wallcroft kept a close eye on them. Yaele was sitting on the floor, with her hands on her knees and her watchful gaze aimed at the Grunts.

"These forests are perilous," Arya said. Her ODST suit was scratched and dented, but not as battered as Wallcroft was. Then again, the ODST himself looked a lot cleaner. A nightly dive into the sea would do that for you. "Landing there will be dangerous."

"A march across enemy territory would be foolishness; we land as close as possible," the massive alien replied. His reptile-like eyes were a bright shade of green, not unlike Arya's. The dark slit in its pupil was more distinctive though.

"There are no open fields. The magic would harm this vessel."

"We have no need of open fields, elf. Once the battle is located, we shall join it from the center."

"You mentioned others," Wallcroft offhandedly remarked. "How many of you are there?"

One Sangheili huffed and looked at the other, who lowered his head and grumbled softly. The tension was obvious.

The commander turned towards the Starborn with an indecipherable expression. "Our Carrier lies at the edge of the system, waiting for the signal."

"Then send the signal," Sergeant Crane said. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw clenched.

The commander turned back to Arya, who hadn't taken kindly to being interrupted. "Were it so easy. We must first determine the nature of this world before our brothers can join us in the fight. We were sent with stealth."

"A reconnaissance mission?" Richard asked. "Since when do the Sangheili scout first?"

It was hard for Eragon to focus on the conversations that were going on around him. `He couldn't bring himself to care about what they said. He felt somewhat numb inside. Couldn't get the memories of the Brutes out of his head. The screaming, the dying. The raging fires. It was there every moment he closed his eyes…every time he wasn't immediately occupied with something.

"The Jiralhanae are too hard-pressed to afford wasting ships," the Sangheili leader explained. "Their behavior baffles us. Commando teams were dispatched, scattered across this land. We encountered resistance, but did not meddle with the locals."

He had fought through legions of Empire soldiers and killed his first men and women at an age boys could barely be considered mature and seen the worst side of humans –only to find out that none of it had mattered in the end, because empires far greater than his enemy lay in waiting behind the stars. Cities had been turned to dust, armies to ruins and families torn apart, all because of some greater play he could not understand. The future of this world was uncertain, and nothing depended on him or anyone down on the surface anymore.

So why did it matter?

"A general rendezvous has been issued; Aberon is under heavy Covenant attack and they need all UNSC assets they can get," Wallcroft quietly said. "I hope this mission of yours is worth it."

Eragon couldn't get the fights out of his head. It was as if his mind brought him back there every single time he tried to think of something else; even when he was aware of it, he couldn't change it.

The Sangheili grunted, flexing his fingers. "After we cleanse the forests, we will set for our allies and wipe out all Jiralhanae. Then we may decide on what to do with this world."

Just another passing comment that Eragon let pass. When the moment came, he would figure out what to do.

The dropship didn't immediately land; first it hovered over a patch of trees, which Eragon could see on an internal screen. He saw the many fires that raged through the forest, the trees that were on fire.

He couldn't muster the passion to care.

"Leader," one of the Sangheili growled. "The Brutes are pushing towards a central city with heavy armour and infantry. "

"If only we had the Hunters," Another one said.

"Brothers!" the commander then barked. He balled a fist and turned to face the present aliens, including the Grunts. "Stand firm! This forest is an enemy to us all, but the Brutes have nothing to guide them!"

They roared or growled, readying themselves for combat, while Eragon just gripped his rifle closer. There was no need for anything fancy or flashy before a fight; he just needed to be focused.

A central sort of hole seemed to open up, in the middle of the dropship. One by one the Sangheili stepped into it and seemed to fall out of the ship, but that didn't worry him too much. After all, why would these aliens just jump to their deaths before a fight?

Then again, the ship might just be hovering close enough to the ground to permit their survival. Either way, he would survive a fall of sufficient height without permanent injuries.

Eragon stepped into the hole and felt something lunge at his stomach. It was a sickening sensation, like he was about to throw up. His descent went slow and controlled, as if he was moving through water instead of air. A faint beam seemed to guide him all the way down, where the Sangheili were already taking up their positions.

What seemed like advanced magic to him was in fact technology. If they had _this,_ why were wars still necessary? It was so infuriating to know that, years and years of advancement and development, there were still people fighting and dying in battles that lost their relevance in history.

As soon as Eragon touched the ground, he moved to the nearest tree for cover. His allies drifted out of the ship too and he took a good look around the dark forest, scanning for enemies. At the moment, it looked like he was safe. But the trees…so many of them were on fire. The smoke was thick and reminded him of Melian. It wasn't the most pleasant of memories.

The Grunts were excited. Two of them were still hefting their giant, green guns and the other two had their pink needle-firing weapons. The last one –the one who looked the most enthusiastic- carried duel plasma pistols.

"Onwards warriors!" The commander snapped, after which half the Sangheili suddenly turned invisible and disappeared into the woods. The remaining two –both wielding two blue rifles and keeping their blades at their belts- spread out in a thin formation, leading the way. The Commander seemed to be among the invisible, which puzzled Eragon somewhat. Normally, leaders fought alongside their troops in war, both to inspire them and to defend their honor. Then he had learnt that there was no honor or glory and that victory was all that mattered. So why was the leader of an intelligent and advanced race fighting on the front lines? It just didn't make sense.

The distant fires were growing closer and the smoke grew denser and thicker, to the point that their helmets were the only things keeping them breathing. How the Sangheili did it, he didn't know. He did know to keep a close eye on Arya; she might be as disillusioned as he was with life as they knew it, but she took it so much worse. She was growing a bit…unstable. He wanted to make sure that she would find a way to deal with this all.

Up ahead were the sounds of combat that he had grown accustomed to. A squad of Grunts was happily firing its green shots of magic into the foliage, where dark figures were darting back and forth to dodge the fire.

Eragon noticed that the Covenant had penetrated deeper than the Empire ever had; they just had to shoot every tree they encountered once to set it on fire and after that, they could move on. Burn everything behind them and mercilessly push forwards. It was a sound strategy to beat the elves in their own environment, but there was just one problem. Two, actually. If they failed to advance quickly enough, they would be pinned by the very fires that they had created to drive their foes out.

The second one was that they left their rear guard completely open for forces that advanced quick enough to catch up to them, as they soon found out.

Wallcroft was the first to catch a target. He sighted in with his rifle and pulled the trigger, unleashing a burst of metal projectiles that tore a path through the forest and caught a Grunt in its face. The small alien dropped dead without ever getting the chance to warn its allies, three of which were the next to get downed with headshots.

After that, Crane opened fire. His fire was different from the ODST's in that he didn't aim at a general enemy; he shot at the entire group with fast shots that didn't even hit anything. It caused the enemy to rapidly move out and take cover, getting bogged down in the process. Some of them returned fire, but there was an extremely trigger-happy Grunt on the UNSC's side, who just spammed the enemy's position with searing fire that burned straight through their cover.

_It fires faster than the Sangheili with their weapons,_ Eragon thought with amazement. The green blobs of magic carved through wood and armour alike and two of the Brutes were completely exposed for the two Sangheili to cut them down with their own rifles.

"You Brutes very stinky!" It cried as it set half a dozen trees on fire with its duel pistols.

One of the Sangheili flanked to the right, allowing Eragon and Arya clear shots. Eragon aimed with the rifle just as Richard had told him and pulled the trigger too, spraying lethal projectiles down the range and further pushing the Covenant forces back. He saw a few Jackels sprint to the front, but one of the Sangheili burst from the foliage on their sides and sprayed them with blue fire, cutting them down too.

The other alien thundered down the front and clashed with one of the screaming Brutes, dodging a sluggish swipe from its bladed weapon and cracking its skull over with its rifle

The fight was over within seconds after that. Eragon and Arya combined their fire to bring down several Jackels with carefully-aimed shots and a few Grunts blew the entire area to smithereens with their over-sized guns, which shots were so powerful that everything not Sangheili was pushed back by the sheer pressure.

Wallcroft ran up to the last Brute, punched it in the jaw and watched it rise up again in pure rage. He then whipped out a knife and literally carved its throat open before the alien could even start rampaging, which seemed to be sufficient enough to stun it for a few moments.

Crane threw a large rifle at the ODST, which he caught one-handed before grabbing he barrel, sliding it up and down and firing one shot into the Brute's face, blowing half of it away.

The Grunt stopped at one of the bodies and snorted. "But I only shot it once…wait, shot it many times." Then he chuckled –though its high-pitched voice made it sound like a giggle. "Never mind."

Strange creatures, those Grunts.

"What next, nap?" another grunt asked.

"No, no! We go kill hairy furballs!"

"Quiet," one of the Sangheili growled. "This was just a small group. More up ahead."

The elves that had been fighting off the Covenant could not have known that the approaching group was not their enemy. Seeing as how this had been a moderately small group of Covenant, the natives must have already slain several members. At least they were still putting up a fight.

Arya stiffened and Eragon only had a few seconds to brace himself before the magical attack struck their group. Shields flared, Grunts shrieked and the Starborn cursed loudly before dropping to the ground.

Yaele shouted something before any of them could make a mistake and shoot an elf. The magical attack ceased and the Sangheili, who had dropped into low crouches and leveled their rifles, stayed where they were. Arya shook her head for a moment before joining her, just like when they had first arrived in Du Weldenvarden.

It took the entrenched elves a few moments to get out of the foliage, carrying bows and swords. They looked pale and grim, carrying themselves not with elegancy and pride, but caution and fear, like wounded animals. Eragon had only ever seen Arya really hurt, be it physical or emotional. He had long since understood that whatever mental discipline their race had, it did not extent to war. Humans simply fared better.

Upon seeing the Grunts, a race they must have undoubtedly faced before in these forests, the elves raised their weapons again and started shouting in alarm.

"We are not your enemies," Yaele firmly told them. Of course Arya didn't take the word; the ODST suit she wore would be the last thing her kin would trust in these dark times. "Did we not slay your foe? Vanquished their fire?"

The elves remained silent. There were only three of them, but they could still cause some damage if they decided that this was a ruse.

"We do not have the time for this," one Sangheili growled. "Elves, take heed! If you do not wish your homes to burn, you would be wise to fight the enemy, not us!"

Eragon felt that the statement was more than a simple threat. At least, it had to be. What reason did the Sangheili have to threaten allies?

The only male elf among the trio replied to Yaele with the Ancient Language, demanding to know who would ally themselves with monsters. Upon hearing that remark, Arya removed her helmet and showed her face. Her hair was tied back so that the face-revealing piece of armour could properly fit over her head and her eyes were more haunted than before, but even shell-shocked elves could not that it was their princess. They quickly stood down.

Eragon was surprised to feel that he had no patience for these lengthy courtesies and introductions, but more so that they were not even present. The trio simply nodded and joined their group without so much as a single complaint.

With the three anonymous elves on their side, the other Sangheili donned his cloak and disappeared as well.

"Now that's cozy," Crane muttered, turning to look at the elf females from behind his visor. He made it rather obvious for someone wearing a piece of equipment that hid his entire head.

"Do us all a favor and shut up, will you?"

The group advanced through the section of Du Weldenvarden, easily following the trail of destruction and death that the Covenant had left behind. It looked like the forest had come alive at several places, a testimony to the powerful magic that permeated the forest. Trees had uprooted, branches had curled around weapons and soldiers and entire clearings had been created by the animated parts of Du Weldenvarden.

As a testimony to the ruthlessness of the Covenant, those magical attacks had all been burned to dead husks. Energy blasts had carved through trees, magical fire had disintegrated branches and roots and only one unlucky Jackel had been killed by the attempt at defense. Its body was charred and smelled like burning flesh, having been hosed with fire along with the tree that had attacked it. Thousands of footsteps covered the ground and made the group realize just how large the enemy force was. Du Weldenvarden looked just like any other forest that had served as a marching ground for an army; trampled, damaged. Humiliated.

Eragon wondered what the elves would do with such a determined and furious invader. Most of them had left the forest already, directing their attacks to the surrounding Imperial cities to show that their spirit hadn't been broken yet. After the _When Duty Ends _had descended from the sky, things had changed. Islanzadí had moved back to the capital city to oversee the battles and other preparations…and the Covenant made no distinction between those they slaughtered. They had to get to her, no matter what.

On occasion, he thought that he heard the Sangheili who were stealthing through major parts of the journey. Moments after, they would encounter a party of Covenant forces left as a rear guard, slaughtered by magic fire and blades that ignored armour.

The stench of burning flesh grew thicker.

Too soon they reached the area where most of the fighting was taking place. Crane and Wallcroft were the first to duck down and take cover, quickly followed by the remaining Sangheili and the lance of Grunts. Arya gestured at Eragon and led him to an open space between two cut-down trees, allowing them a good sight on what was going on.

The Covenant had spread their army out along the flank of the capital city, flattening everything in their way. Occasionally, Dropships would come by and drop things like tanks and small one-man-operated vehicles that darted back and forth with more agility than horses. Ellesmera was on fire; trees that housed homes of families and friends fell to the ground in smoking pieces, warriors were shot down as they emerged from the woods to defend their loved and monsters clad in shining, shimmering armour and shields slowly advanced towards their prey.

Eragon felt a soft presence brush at his mind and he hurried to allow her in.

'_There is no magic to stop us,' _Arya told him. Being so close to the enemy, she did not dare talk aloud, it seemed. '_And neither does it stop them. Our defenses have been destroyed.'_

'_The Covenant does not tread lightly,'_ he grimly replied. '_Their weaponry is superior to magic.'_

'_I cannot stand this age of scorching firepower. They are besieging my home; slaughtering my people. We must stop them.'_

'_We will.'_

That being said, he had no idea how to stop them. There were five of them, including the Starborn soldiers, with about a hundred Covenant soldiers for each of them to take out. Even if they could-

"Watch out!" Crane suddenly shouted, jumping up from his cover and sprinting towards a different tree. Three of the hovering vehicles broke off from the main group and surged towards them, cannons flaring.

"The drives, Eragon!" Richard shouted, taking shots at the enemy with his sidearm. "Take out the drivers!"

He didn't need to hear that twice. Eragon dove underneath a salvo of blue fire and opened fire at the closest alien craft with his rifle, hoping to get its attention. Arya joined in, though she carried an alien rifle instead of a human one. The combined fire was enough to damage one of the vehicles and direct it towards them. The Brute controlling it increased its speed, intent on ramming them. It looked too bulky to fit into the vehicle, but he knew that it didn't matter.

"Thrysta!" Arya shouted, knocking the Brute out of its seat. The alien fell to the ground, rolled to a standstill against a tree and was about to get up and return fire when both Crane and Wallcroft unleashed a hellish crossfire, perforating it with bullets and putting an end to its movements.

"Shotgun," Sergeant Crane called, before jumping into the vehicle and starting it up again. By that time, the other two were speeding towards them as well, scorching the ground around them with their blue fire.

Their skirmish didn't seem to have gone unnoticed; Covenant soldiers broke off from the city and moved towards their position, screaming for blood.

Something moved in the bushes and with a bright flash of green, a salvo of arm-sized, glowing projectiles surged through the air. Two of them impacted on the leading vehicle and blew it to complete smithereens, turning it into little more than molten slag.

Eragon rolled aside to avoid being crushed by the last remaining vehicle. He jumped to his feet, squeezed off a few shots and was forced to jump over the vehicle as it returned for more. He could feel the purple metal underneath his legs come too close for comfort and he realized that he couldn't afford to jump over these things again; he might break his legs if he missed.

He took cover by a tree again while Richard stepped into the open, holding a brown sphere in his only good hand. Eragon knew from experience just how much damage those things could cause.

"Frag out!"

The vehicle, which was taking its time lining up the ODST and scorching through the flimsy tree that he had put between himself and it, could not dodge the grenade fast enough. It went off with a loud crack and the driver was flung from his seat, landing awkwardly on the ground. There, both Yaele and Arya combined their magical prowess to set it on fire and drive a sharp piece of metal into its skull, respectively.

Only the Brute didn't seem to realize that it had just been killed; it flung itself at the humans in their group with its berserking rage, bringing its arms down in a crushing blow aimed at Wallcroft's head.

The soldier cursed and dodged the strike, doing what any sane man in close-combat would do and pulling out his knife. The weapon might have looked fearsome at one point; large, with black hooks at one side and a sharp edge on the other. Against the Brute however, it looked more like a dining knife.

The alien threw himself at the ODST again, too close for the others to shoot it properly dead. It bulging muscles looked like they could rip a Kull in half –what chance did a normal human have against it?

Wallcroft sliced it across the stomach three times in quick succession, dove underneath a savage strike and carved a bloody path from its center of mass to its throat. He couldn't get much higher than that; the creature towered a good few feet above him.

Muttering something like "there we go again", Sergeant Crane discarded his weapon and lunged for the Brute. He wasn't the only one; something shimmered like the air above a fire and a dark figure strode towards the Brute from the foliage, not crouching but also not standing fully upright. It whipped its weapon down on the Brute's skull with a wet "crack", giving Wallcroft enough time to stagger backwards and leap for his weapon.

The alien turned around, faced the Sangheili and uttered a feral growl before receiving another blow to the head for its troubles.

It shuddered before sinking through its knees, falling to the ground like a limp doll.

"Over so soon?" the black-clad Sangheili growled, before using his blue rifle –which he was wearing with one hand- to gun down an approaching squad of Grunts.

"Guys, a little help here?" Richard shouted at them, toppling a trio of Grunts with his sidearm. While the majority of the Covenant forces were still preoccupied with burning Ellesmera to the ground, a few dozen still broke off from the main ranks to get a go at the humans with or without the pointy ears to gun down.

"Our leader located the monarch!" the Sangheili barked. "We should move now!"

It seemed that the five Grunts were doing better than their Brute-commandeered counterparts. The two with the pink weapons didn't even need to have good aim; their projectiles literally flew through the bushes, trailed their targets and embedded themselves deep within their flesh, whereupon they violently exploded.

So even these small aliens could become lethal when properly trained and equipped. Eragon was glad to have them on his side; those green cannons looked very heavy, and the Grunts in the back simply carried them with one arm.

Eragon, Crane and Wallcroft laid down a thundering suppression fire while the aliens moved to cover their flank, advancing deeper into the burning city. Fire and spikes filled the air and metal bullets tore through alien suits and flesh, covering the ground with blood. One of the Grunts fired off an explosive shot with its cannon, blowing a cluster of Jackels to pieces.

The Sangheili was faster than the Starborn. It guided them around collapsed houses, burning trees and raging Brutes while dealing quick and decisive blows on foes that stood in his way.

The leader located the monarch…the queen? Did the Sangheili think that saving Islanzadí would help them overcome the enemy?

Arya wouldn't be able to handle the loss of her mother. For that, saving the queen of the elves would be a good priority. But it couldn't be their actual _mission_; the Sangheili had come to this world with a mission already on their minds. So what was it? Why were they truly here?

Eragon couldn't keep a track of everything. So he prioritized as well; he kept Arya close to him and made sure that she pulled through. He synchronized his targets with her, covered her when they needed to move and pointed out targets with her. The Sangheili and the Grunts were forging a bloody path ahead, while the Starborn soldiers made sure that their flanks remained clear. They were loud and obnoxious in a way Eragon could only like; Sergeant Crane had wanted to take the Covenant vehicle with them, but he had only succeeded in flattening the thing against a pair of trees. Their attitude was enough to make him crack a smile now and then, which in turn made him believe that he could pull through.

"There lies the palace," Yaele commented, pointing at one of the only remaining structures that had not been destroyed. Corpses littered the ground before it, most of them elven. It hurt Eragon to see them lie there, broken and burned by a foe they had never seen coming.

The elves were not the only corpses around the structure, it seemed. Brutes, Grunts, Jackels...there were easily two dozen Covenant bodies as well. Carved apart by magical swords, shot by fire weapons…it seemed that the Sangheili group had cut through here as well.

The doors to the main hall had been sliced open; the edges of the wood were still smoldering.

"Our brothers wait ahead," the lone Sangheili left in charge of the Grunts said. "We will communicate our extraction –make haste, humans. We will not be waited for."

Extraction. Escape from this burning hell. Regroup and think of a way to strike at the enemy. Eragon had been fighting and moving nonstop for days –he needed a moment to think.

They moved deeper into the palace, encountering more slain elves and Covenant. Yaele took a moment to close the eyes of someone she must have known, before standing up and brandishing her sword again.

"With haste indeed," she commented.

Wallcroft nodded, looking around the blood-filled hall. "Damn waste."

The sounds of combat roused them from their brief moment of grief. There were still elves alive to resist the Covenant in their murderous slaughter –and Eragon would be damned if he let them die as well. If there was any goal in this war, it would be to protect those who could not protect themselves. As a soldier, not a Rider.

Arya and the Sangheili took up positions near the double set of doors, while Wallcroft readied his big gun again.

Wood shattered, people screamed and the ODST accelerated his plans and unloaded two projectiles at the doors, whereupon he kicked them in with enough force to blow them open.

The black Sangheili rounded the corner with his rifle raised, but he did not fire upon the individuals inside of the large room.

Eragon winced as four invisible Sangheili lowered their cloaks, dropping the dead bodies of several Brutes to the ground. Smoke billowed from their open wounds, where the white blades had carved through their thick flesh and fur like they weren't even there.

After that, mopping up the remaining Covenant in the large room only took seconds. Blades flashed, bullets impacted and magical fire tore down most of the walls as well.

Eragon caught a glimpse of the elven queen and her remaining guards, purple blood and scorch marks staining their normally-beautiful clothes, before the Sangheili in charge strode towards Islanzadí with large passes.

"What sorcery is this?" she demanded.

"You," the Sangheili called. "Do you answer to the title of "queen"?"

With narrowed eyes and slim lips, the elf nodded. "And who, or what, might I ask, are you?"

The alien snorted. Even though eves were exceptionally tall, he was taller than the queen. His chest was massive and his armour made him look as menacing as Spartan. "I am Special Operations Officer Osna 'Ranamai, leader of Separatist forces on this planet. You will come with us if you want to live."

The queen scowled and lowered her sword, which was sticky with alien blood. "I spent the last hours killing you monsters that dare damage our homes. You would show up here with humans and tell me to leave my people?"

The Sangheili reached out and grabbed Islanzadí by the front of her cloak, unhindered by Wards. The elves around her stirred, as did the Special Operations Sangheili around them.

"Yes," the alien bluntly told her, staring at her with his reptilian eyes. "We all have to make sacrifices. We must gather our troops if we wish to destroy this blight."

The elf placed a hand on Osna 'Ranamai's large fist, gently and calm. The Sangheili broke the menacing eye-contact that had been raising the tension in the hall, before sniffing in deep and letting go.

"These forests are all we have," the queen softly spoke. "If we leave them now…"

"If you do not leave them now, your people will follow the same fate."

Eragon reached for Arya's hand and watched the remaining Sangheili reach for their weapons and turn to face the door that they had just entered through.

"Time's up uglies," Crane called, raising his gun and moving away from the door. "The Covenant wants to steal our elves, so now we gotta kick their asses."

* * *

Aeraleth watched the man with pieces of see-through scales over his eyes kneel down next to the dead corpse of a Starborn soldier, taking a piece of metal from his neck while doing so.

" Damnit Wilks," the man muttered.

The body of "Wilks" didn't look like it had become one without a fight; its abdomen had been torn open, its guts were spilled and there was a hole in its head. Also, one of its arms was no longer attached to the torso. A messy, painful death as any.

But Aeraleth did not feel for the many deaths of the Starborn around her. Not only was her entire body aching from burning wounds, she was also missing something. Something very important. A piece of herself, unable to be found.

After she and the Red One had worked together with the Blue One to destroy the big mechanical creature, it had exploded violently. Violent enough to turn the rest of the giant human den into rubble and stones. Not the kind of stones that they could build with. So now the humans and dwarves were running around, gathering wounded and generally fleeing the den. Broken den.

But she wouldn't leave. The Red One's partner-of-mind had reunited with him and was now aiding the Starborn with gathering shiny objects and bleeding people. Her parent was nowhere to be found, though. In that she was alone.

The dragoness sighed with frustration and slammed her tail into the leftover husk of a smaller den, flattening it. Her wounds ached as much as her heart. Throbbing, pulsating, itching, everything. It was so bad that she couldn't even focus on the mind of her partner-of-heart, who was somewhere out there, fighting all on his own. The sky was getting darker; the air colder. And she could not find him! It was as if he had completely fallen away from her ability to feel him. That could mean only two things.

She didn't want to think about any of those.

Amidst the chaos, Aeraleth only allowed one person to come close. She only _wanted _one person to come close, that was. And she was about the only one who wanted to come close herself. Not many people seemed to miss her Rider these days; his allies used or feared him, elves and dwarves spurned and feared him and the hardened soldiers didn't trust him. Or feared him. That seemed to be a common thing with all these two-legged, be they of round ears, pointy ears or metal faces.

She was too busy taking in the environment, spotting enemy flyers and making sure dead things stayed dead to worry about the petty little opinions of petty little creatures. Her Rider was missing and that was all that mattered, really. But flying around and looking for him would get her killed; the enemy was preparing for another massive attack. One that would leave them all scorched and burned.

The elf made her way towards Aeraleth, moving with a distinctive limp. Of her once regal and dragon-like manner of carrying herself was nothing left. At least, not in the familiar manner. She was injured, perhaps even badly.

She directed her attention to the little elf and sniffed a few times. '_You smell singed,'_ she commented.

Daenlith sat down next to her and sighed deeply. She leant with her back against a rock, closed her eyes. '_You look singed.'_

Aeraleth exhaled a puff of smoke. That pointy-eared thing…

'W_here is Spartan?'_

Her Rider. '_Gone.'_

'_Where?'_

Aeraleth lowered her head and looked away.

The elf reached out and placed a hand on her flank. It looked singed as well. There was something wrong with her face; there was a large patch of strange, brown skin instead of the normal pale skin. Those same ones, one her arm. Her clothing existed out of torn white sheets and other loose pieces. She must have been unclothed when all of this began.

A flash of memory struck Aeraleth right as she was trying to puzzle it all together. Of course Daenlith was! She had been terribly wounded and her Rider…he had done everything he could to save her. It had been really nasty, if her memories were right.

If they were right. Lately, she had been having trouble with memory. The blood of her ancestors seemed to have disappeared; she could no longer call on knowledge that she had not gathered herself, leaving her lacking in wisdom at times she needed it the most. It was probably a phase of reaching adulthood…even though the others had not gone through such phase.

Had they?

'_Can you not feel him?'_

Aeraleth growled with annoyance. '_I am unable to!'_

'_Is that on your end of the bond, or his?'_

She flicked with her tail again, tearing down another wall. A rising feeling of aggression was starting to influence her thoughts, but she could not allow that to happen. '_I hope mine…I fear his.'_

'_Then there is only one thing we can do.'_

'_I know.'_

'_We must search for him.'_

Aeraleth placed her head on the ground. '_I know.'_

'_So why are we still here?'_

She snorted. '_Because you smell like you will fall over soon? Because the enemy controls every place around us, including this den?'_ She halted, trying to calm her feelings from overwhelming her thoughts. '_Because I do not know where to start. He is gone…and I cannot find him!'_

The Starborn soldier down the road left the body of his friend behind and moved on.

Daenlith shivered and placed a hand on her side. When she gave her reply, her mental voice sounded weak and vague. '_There are soldiers in this city…unlike the others. One of them died. Two are left. They might be able to help-'_

'_No!' _Aeraleth snapped, causing the elf to nearly fall to the ground. '_I do not trust them! We trust no 'one!'_

'_But you trust me,'_ Daenlith protested.

Aeraleth did not know how to respond to that. She didn't even know why she had lost her patience in the first place, let alone how to fix it. '_I fear I will lose him. That one day, his madness will carry him down a path I cannot save him from.'_

'_Madness?'_

'_That black plague infesting his mind. I first felt it when I was but a hatchling, no larger than him. It rests in his mind, waiting to be released. When it does…it consumes. He loses control.'_

The elf sounded surprised. '_I was not aware of this. Who else knows?'_

'_Perhaps his people. Perhaps no creature but me…and now you.'_

'_Aeraleth, this is dangerous.'_

The dragoness snorted deeply, singing the ground in front of her. '_You would fear him too?'_

'_Not at all. This madness you speak of…it can rebound across the link. It might already have.'_

'_What do you mean?'_

'_I mean that a sickness of the mind will be felt on both ends of the mental Bond. If you cannot feel him…'_

'_He must be hiding himself from me. To protect me?'_

'_That seems likely to me.'_

Aeraleth drew her tongue past her front teeth and contemplated what to do next. '_I cannot fly properly.'_

'_Yes.'_

'_You cannot walk properly.'_

'_Indeed.'_

She dug her talons into the ground and pushed herself up. Daenlith was taking this extraordinarily well…better than she expected. It was suspicious, but she couldn't linger the feelings of doubt.

'_I believe the Starborn are evacuating this city and following the civilians to the east. It means that the Covenant will attack soon.'_

'_Then we better hurry. Do you have a weapon?'_

The elf nodded '_Where do you believe he last fought?'_

Aeraleth pressed her shoulder to the ground and allowed Daenlith to climb her leg. She wasn't her partner-of-heart, but she was still the closest thing she had to a friend. '_Where he can always be found, no matter what.'_

'_The battlefield.' _Daenlith hesitated for some reason, not immediately climbing on top of Aeraleth's back.

'_Is something amiss?' _

It looked like she wanted to say something for a brief moment, but in the end the elf merely shrugged and slowly made her way to Aeraleth's neck. Once there, the dragoness took the air. Sher could oversee all of the den, as much as there was left. The walls had been obliterated, the big central building destroyed and the streets were littered with corpses and blood. Alien, human and dwarf.

She had not just been focusing on fighting the giant mechanical walker; she had been keeping an eye on all the fighting that had been going on during the conflict. She had seen dwarves throw themselves at their foes with their axes and blades, only to be utterly crushed for their courage. Magic fire and spikes had torn through their armour and bodies, crude alien melee weapons had made short work of everything they touched and a scarred monster with a massive hammer had been rampaging through the streets, killing Starborn and natives alike. Its hammer had possessed a curious effect; whatever it struck would get violently blown back, often with lethal results. It was if it could explode the air with simple strikes. Odd, as the monsters did not have magic.

No, the dwarves had not been useful combatants. Even the smaller aliens had been gleefully massacring the bearded ones, even though they were roughly the same size. The horned two-legs had had the most success in repelling the aliens and even they had taken much casualties.

Aeraleth wasn't sure whether to feel satisfied that her race was now not the only one risking extinction, or horrified. So she settled for neither.

Beyond the city lay the scorching plains of the desert, where more corpses lay rotting in the sun, waiting for the birds of prey to descent. Their carapaces and plating reflected the few rays of sunlight that still reached the land, like tiny facets of a gemstone. Or the corpse of a dragon.

It looked like carnage. The burnt-out husks of large vehicles were sporadically scattered among the corpses, burning with blue and purple fires. There was no trace of her Rider anywhere. Daenlith too did not see him, but that was only logical, because elves didn't even see as sharp as dragons did.

Aeraleth once again located the connection between herself and her Rider. Just as she caught a glimpse of the start of the enemy army, she felt a whisper. It was mostly pain –as was logical with her partner-of-heart- but there was also something else. Uncertainty…confusion…yes, those were normal too. Bu not in these amounts…something was wrong.

The next moment, she could the contact they had fall away. Like something crashed, or fell apart.

Panic took a hold of her heart and she turned towards the last location she had felt the faint touch of her Rider's consciousness. A dark hole, carved into the ground by time itself. Not usually something she would want to stick her head in, but…things changed.

'_Daenlith-'_

'_I see it.'_

Her Rider would be there, but there was no telling what else would be there with him. He would never willingly leave a battlefield as long as there were enemies left to fight. It just wasn't in his nature. She couldn't even fit her head down there, but she didn't deed to. She just had to tear the cave apart, stone by stone.

Aeraleth didn't bother to land. She swept down, allowed the elf to jump off of her and took off again. She could smell something foul, something pungent. A stench that she had carved into her memory, even though the names of the creatures had faded away.

She regretted allowing Daenlith in all on her own; she was too wounded to fight like a warrior now. She would most certainly perish if she were to encounter that hated enemy…her weapon had better be sharp and true.

Though her eyes and smelling were more keen than her hearing, Aeraleth could still hear talking coming from the cave. Noisy, mumbling two-leg-talk. She didn't hear her Rider's voice, which could mean multiple things.

The rock underneath her paws felt scorching hot, but it would be a while before the heat would damage the flesh underneath her scales. And in a while, they would be long gone.

Aeraleth started tearing the cave apart; digging her claws deep into the stones and shaking the ground with her violence. She was vaguely aware of strange sounds coming from the hollow rock she was peeling open, but she ignored those. Her Rider was too tough to be damaged by falling rocks and Daenlith was too fast.

The other dragons were helping the Starborn evacuating the city, perhaps by carrying supplies or wounded individuals. They should be capable enough to help the two-legs until they had all vacated their burning den. While the structures had been pretty to look at, they looked better by having been razed to the ground. There was a certain beauty in destruction that she couldn't quite understand. Stagnancy was a bad thing; if things stayed the same long enough, they would get boring. At least, that was what she believed right now. It might change into the future, but…that was then.

And this was now. And right now, she had a cave to destroy.

Through the cracks and tears she caused in the rough stone, she caught the occasional flicker of green light. She smelled a strange scent that she had smelled before during this fight; burning earth. It was a strange scent, different from burning wood. It made her feel uncomfortable smelling it; as if there was something approaching that she could not stop.

A consciousness brushed against hers and she allowed it in, recognizing the cruder-than-usual contact as Daenlith's.

'_Aeraleth, destroy this cave!'_

Destroy? That was exactly what she was doing, but a bit too soon. She didn't want to dig her Rider out of the rubble; what if he was wounded badly?

'_Do it now!'_

The panic that flowed through the contact was…odd. Closer to fear, actually. But that wasn't what was odd, that was only normal. No –what was odd was that emotions didn't generally seep through these shallow communications. And then there was the fact that elves didn't seem to _feel _the same as normal humans. So why?

Aeraleth stomped the stone roof with her hind legs, getting a few amusing cracks as a response to her violence. That wasn't yet enough.

Another stomp caused more pieces of stone to fall down, revealing a larger hole through which she could actually see movement. More green flashes, too.

Her next stomp was enough to whittle away most of the sides too, allowing her to fit her head in. And if her head fit into something, her limbs could tear that something into something with a very large hole.

She latched her claws onto the exposed stones at the sides and pulled them apart, crushing the rest of the roof and exposing everything that was taking place into that dark hole for the sky to see.

Aeraleth hesitated for a split-second before pushing herself further in, grabbing both her Rider as her elf with her claws, taking care not to crush them in the process. She then bathed the interior of the cave with flames hot enough to melt rocks and vaporize flesh, before pulling out viciously enough to nearly collapse the hollowed-out cave.

And when she left, she smashed her tail into the walls for good measure, completely collapsing it anyway. If that wasn't enough to get rid of the persistent predator, she had another plan to get her two-legs to safety. She pushed off with her powerful hind legs and spread her wings, waiting for the brief moment where her magical nature would rear its head and allow her to catch the wind that was not truly there, but came from other plains.

When it did, she dragged her wings back to her body and flapped them back again, propelling herself further. There was something terribly wrong; she could no longer feel her Rider's mind, even though there was nothing to separate them. Whenever he terminated the link, she would feel a horrible hole, as if something had been ripped from her. Every single time. Now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. A dark void that bordered on the edge of her sanity.

Aeraleth felt the heat of the day, cast down upon her back and wings. In the burning heat of the desert, she did not tend to last long. Her injuries burned and itched and her body was aching for a drop of water. There was absolutely no alternative to her goal of bringing her loved ones to safety, so she would keep going, but it wasn't the safest thing to do.

Daenlith was alive and conscious in her claw, but barely so. Her partner-of-heart…he wasn't moving. Limp.

Soon she encountered the rising columns of smoke that was the human den. Bodies lay sprawled across the ruined buildings, left to rot or be used as food for the enemy. Alien and human. Purple wreckages, brown wreckages, dark bodies and light bodies. In death, everything was equal to each other.

She dared not look at her partner-of-heart. His suit felt hot and burned her claws, even though the blistering fields of sand could not do the same. Strange scents came from the metal plates, smelling worse than the burning rocks.

The first signs of Starborn presence made itself known after a short time flying towards the giant mountain. There were gray and brown vehicles patrolling the area, hovering over a small cloud of dust in-between the two closest peaks. It was a wise idea; the Covenant would not easily find them there. That, and maneuvers were hard to perform.

Aeraleth only slowed down after passing two of the mountains, closely following the ships to make sure that she would not miss anything. Something felt wrong…more wrong than normal.

When her wings suddenly ceased to function properly and her grip on the magic wind fell away, she was forced to stop her journey and aim towards the ground. There was panic bordering in her mind, but she attempted to ignore it. It was no use panicking when there was a crisis at hand; why couldn't she use magic anymore?

And that was when the pain hit her. Mind-numbing, sanity-shattering and all-consuming pain. It spread through her entire body within seconds, leaving only agony and despair in its wake. Pieces of her mind crumbled and fell away, her perception of the world warped. A void welled within her chest, filled with a pain worse than any physical pain could ever match. It was sorrow and hate and terror and above all, overwhelming loneliness.

Empty claws tore and clawed at sand on the ground, uncontrolled. Mad. Something was wrong. Amiss. Broken. And through the paralyzing agony of life, her body found out on its own. Her mind was alone; her heart unaccompanied by the steady beat of the one most important to her. It was like a part of her had been violently torn away from her.

She was vaguely aware of movement by her front legs, where a tiny figure knelt down by another, armoured figure. Bringing a hand to its chest. Touching its face. She heard faint singing, low in pitch and sorrowful.

Aeraleth could no longer muster the will to scream. A cold emptiness washed over her, numbing her feelings and filling her with a feeling that she could only describe as dying. She wished it was.

Now, she was well and truly alone.


	37. Section 26

"_So how did Reaper get his name?"_

"_Depends. His version entails him eliminating several Sangheili-led squads on Jericho VII by killing the Sangheili first, before picking off the scattered Unggoy in the burning city."_

"_And the official version?"_

"_The official version entails him working with a funeral service to give the victims in a mass-grave a proper funeral, after most UNSC forces had been wiped out. Then the second wave Covenant attack started and he suddenly had many dozens of bodies to use as cover, most of which he spread around the city in the dark. The name stuck. Guess the memories did too._

* * *

It definitely looked like the definition of "Shade" alright. Red hair and pale skin…but that was it. The woman escorted by the Marine was naked underneath the brown cloak that had been draped around her shoulders, hiding her body from prying eyes. Most people would not be able to notice the subtle tint of her pale complexion, nor the patches of exposed skin where the heavy cloak was not sufficient enough to hide her body.

Night wasn't most people. In the darkness of the night, he saw with near-perfect sight. He could see the woman walking with a limp, supported by the man who had brought her here. He could see how the soldier looked at her, supported her and guided her across the unsteady rocks.

Now…according to the files, this woman had to be Raia, a woman once possessed by spirits, but then saved by a mysterious "Mistress" and granted to live her life with her own mind and memories instead of serving as an empty husk. Fought and eliminated twice by two-sierra zero-zero-seven, she became loyal to him when he spared her life. Went as far as to swear fealty to him in the ancient language of the elves, which served as their conduit for magic.

That meant that the soldier had to be Corporal Hudson, the son of one of the Spartan-I's and a potential member for Section 26. An unlikely couple, but oddly fitting.

Undertow was the Agent send to "welcome" the two newcomers. They couldn't risk anyone being compromised in any way and a Marine accompanied by a Shade wasn't really the first thing that they wanted to see at the new basecamp. Nasty things could happen. In theory.

With a bit of luck, they could get the Shade in Section 26 as well. That would increase their chances .

Was Hudson aware of the multiple snipers taking aim at him? Of the heavy machinegun that was currently waiting for the signal to tear him to pieces? If his reputation was in any way based in real military deeds, he should be. He didn't show it though.

Undertow stopped the two of them and asked the Corporal for his identification and serial number. He got both, as well as some explanation about a wrecked Mongoose.

Night wondered why the soldier would care about the Shade. Obviously something had happened when the original group of soldiers had been wandering around the country, but…did that warrant dropping off the grid like that? In the middle of the conflict?

After a brief conversation, Undertow allowed the two of them to pass. Good. More hands onboard. The more people they had to fight the Covenant, the better their chances were. It was ironic how they could topple this entire Empire with just a handful of soldiers, but that they still needed an entire army to fight off the Covenant.

Though he supposed that, had it been the other way around, they could have destroyed the Varden with even less than that. The only reason that they had actually been fighting for these rebels was because the Empire had shown hostilities towards them, which was just a normal reaction to something you didn't understand. The UNSC had no reason for fighting against this Galbatorix person. They should have been negotiating peace and other important relations instead of fueling the war with their own personnel and ordnance. And good people had died because of that.

Was that the Spartans fault? Or Wren's?

Maybe it was nobody's fault. Maybe it just was the way things were.

Raia and Hudson moved towards the camp and Night disappeared. It was the sort of thing that was required from the S25 Field Agents; to be able to move and observe without a sound. The training had been…difficult to complete.

His list of things to take care of wasn't too large tonight. Observe the interactions between native species and soldiers, visit Mason to communicate about his plan involving the Spartan and pick out members for the future S26 group.

Finding natives in this place wasn't too big an issue. The people in control excelled at keeping control wherever they went; the elves, dwarves and urgals knew what they had to do when they had to do it and the human soldiers were receiving training drills and instructions at every possible moment during the day. Organization was not a problem.

Time was. Time and supplies.

It didn't take him very long to find a scenario he wanted to observe; that of a soldier telling a story to a crowd. The Marine sitting on the side of the river had the natives' undivided attention. There were elves, dwarves and even urgals spread around him in a loose circle, getting warmed up around various campfires and cooking food in several pots of boiling water.

"That was when it started," he continued. His helmet lay on the ground next to him and the glow of the fire cast an odd glance on his face, making him look older than he probably was. "The moment Harvest made contact with this unknown object, all contact with the planet stopped. That was…about thirty years ago, in the year twenty-five twenty-five. So the military –the UNSC- sends a battlegroup of a handful of ships to investigate. Know what they found?"

Two urgals looked at each other for a moment. One of them grunted softly and looked back at the Marine. Funny how they sat cross-legged, just like the elves. The dwarves kept standing though. "Covenant?"

"A big ball of glass," Night muttered.

"There was no more Harvest. What was left was a burning orb of glass and molten land, with only a few habitable areas remaining."

Close enough.

A crescendo of multiple whispers ran through the present races, most of it indecipherable to Night. It didn't matter though; he was content with watching. He was always content with watching. The rocks provided him with ample cover and the height made it hard for the people below to see him. He didn't have very long though; he would be needed for debriefing within a few minutes.

"And this big, purple ship floated above the planet. Of course the battlegroup contacted it. And their response?"

Night remembered it. He had read all the reports, memorized all the battles. All the tactics and strategies involved. "Your destruction is the will of the gods."

The natives didn't know what the response was, of course. So the Marine continued. "Your destruction is the will of the gods-"

"And we are their instruments."

"-and we are their instruments. Then, it immediately opened fire. The battle lasted exactly thirty-seven seconds, after which only one badly-damaged ship managed to escape. It took them weeks to get back to UNSC space."

First contact at Harvest. Though technically, the first contact had been with Jackel pirates. And latera Brute-controlled frigate, which had initiated diplomacy. It was only when a trigger-happy Grunt opened fire that the massacre began. The battleship that had decimated the response-fleet had arrived after the Brutes and then the true war had begun.

Not that it mattered. History was and will always be written by the victors. Details faded in and out of existence and in the end, it was the idea that mattered. The concept behind the events. The concept behind the ancient Vietnam war was guerilla warfare and PTSD, the concept behind the human-Covenant war was survival and genocide. Though the same could also be said for world war two. Tactics and strategies remained the core, but the concept was all that people remembered.

Someone approached him, but he did not move. Instead, he listened to the sounds of the footsteps, trying to determine which race it was. They were too light to belong to an urgal or dwarf, too slow to belong to a pacing soldier and too subtle to belong to anyone from the Varden. That left an S25 member or an elf.

He guessed for elf; Field Agents were too busy to visit each other.

When he glanced aside, he saw a tall woman with leather clothes approaching him, her long hair freely flowing in the wind. She was…entrancing to look at, so he quickly looked back again.

"You are spying on your own people?" she asked. Her voice was exotic and strange, like it was more than just vocalization of thoughts. He liked how it sounded. It made him feel a bit more at ease.

"Not spying," he replied. "Checking."

"For what purpose?"

"Making sure the situation stays safe. There are a lot of different races here…tensions are high."

"So they are." The elf fell quiet for a few moments, before asking, "What is your name?"

He did not get up. He did not look at her. He had to stay focused. "Night."

That seemed to come as a surprise to her. "Humans name themselves after the night?"

"Some of them."

His answer likely puzzled her, as she bowed and left him alone again. It was a shame; he enjoyed being around non-25 personnel. They felt more real to him –more alive, filled with hopes and dreams and creativity.

He didn't pursue company though. He knew better than that. He watched for another ten minutes before concluding that this interaction wouldn't cause any problems. Soon after that he received a call from First Lieutenant Mason, in charge of all combat personnel on the surface of…well, Alagaesia. This planet didn't have a name yet.

Of course he didn't encounter any new people on his way to his meeting, as he couldn't afford to waste any time on them. It was a real shame though; he liked these people. They were so different, more innocent. Not enlightened, but also so much better than Earthborn humanity had been at their own medieval times. These people were fighting for freedom and honor, both of which were better reasons than religion, greed or sheer pettiness. No bloody crusades for promised lands while burning and raping all who thought different, no leaders filled with a secret lust and desire for material gains and no suicide-attacks. Shallow on a better level.

The Lieutenant's "pavilion" was just ahead, most likely protected by guards and snipers. Night trusted most of these people, but the others didn't. No, the UNSC couldn't risk depending on different races, right? ONI had to run a secret campaign just to sabotage the Sangheili even though those split-chins were the only reason mankind was still alive, so trusting other races was a definite no-go.

Of course, just as people who were raped or abused were likely to grow wary of the gender responsible for their suffering, mankind had all right to be wary of anything that wasn't human. The amount of pain and misery that they had gone through at the hands of aliens could never be understood by those who were told the story and these people were aliens. Just that they looked the same as humans didn't take away from the fact that they were not from Earth or other human colonies.

Barring the argument that this place was a forgotten colony, of course.

Night entered the tent, aware of the multiple barrels that were probably aimed on his head. First Lieutenant Mason was properly paranoid. If the USNC forces lost the leader organizing their entire resistance, things would get messy.

The interior was well-organized, with tables covered with pieces of paper sporadically scattered around the tent, several holographic displays and at least one assault rifle placed against the thin fabric of the tent. Mason stood in the center, bowed over a large map with a mug in his right hand. Coffee.

"Agent."

Night straightened his back and saluted. "Sir."

The First Lieutenant didn't give him permission to stand at ease, which was worrying. Night had never really managed to read Mason's complete file; the details had been blanked out, covered with ink and deleted. Whoever this man was, he was more than just First Lieutenant Mason. More than just ONI. "Since we lost the battle at Aberon, things have been looking down for us. Our Spartan has been declared clinically dead."

_I know. I saw._

"Without him, I don't think we can win this thing. So, I've had a conversation with the Captain via a terminal uplink. If we can't win without the Spartan, we will just have to find a way to get him back."

Night hesitated, feeling glad with his helmet. He wasn't sure he could bear having people look at him while he was thinking. "I'm not sure I understand."

Mason sat down at the table and gestured with his hand. Permission to join him at the table. "Do you remember the names of the Spartan-II's?"

"Yes sir."

"The ones that died and came back?"

After a moment of uncertainty, he still nodded. "Sir." Was this going the way he thought it to?

"Kelly-087 and Linda 058. Both of them sustained injuries critical enough that they were dead. 058 was clinically dead. Both of them are active as we speak."

Night was not a religious man. His mother had always taken him and his sister to the church, where they had learned about God and Heaven. He did not believe that a divine being dictated what happened. But he believed in redemption and paradise; that after death, those who died would find their peace and rest, as they deserved.

That stood in conflict with Masons's idea. Apart from the scientific problems of bringing back the dead, it was just ethically not done. The Spartans had never known a measure of peace and sanity in their lives. To bring this one back was to willingly pull him back into the chaos and pain of war and conflicts. They were going to take his chance at peace away from him.

"What I'm saying," Mason continued, "is that we need to find a way to get him back into the fight."

"Sir, with respect, the Spartan is dead. He sustained burns on more than seventy percent on his body and his armour is ruined. Even he won't come back from that."

"Dermacortic steroids will take care of the burns. The Duty's got spare MJOLNIR parts. But even if that works, he won't be able to actually fight again. He'll still be crippled for god knows how long. How far are you with Section twenty-six?"

Night didn't know what to say. Mason proposed all of this like an idea; a military tactic he needed to work out. He was talking about pulling someone out of the afterlife and plunging them back into war, in a battered and wounded body. How could a broken and crippled man fight? "I'm still scouting for recruits, but I've found a few."

"Good. The Captain's planning a course. My guess is that we have about…a rate of ten percent success for his survival. If we are lucky, we can make an emergency rendezvous with the Phantom and get the Spartan in cryo."

"And if we aren't?"

Mason downed his coffee. "We're going to have to explain Spartan's disappearance. Do _you _feel like fighting the Covenant, knowing that they managed to kill a Spartan?"

"Sir. Yes sir."

"Then you'll be severely outnumbered. These people will quit if they find out that their legendary Rider has died. If we want to have any chance at beating the Covenant and uncover those relics, we can't let them know that."

"They'll have passed Aeraleth by," Night replied. "Some will notice that something is wrong. I don't think keeping this down is viable, sir."

"We'll have to. Trust us to take care of that. I'll inform Reaper when the Captain has the coordinates of the rendezvous; our timing will have to be perfect."

Simply flying the Phantom into space to regroup with the _When Duty Ends_ wasn't viable either. There were so many problems with their situation…but then again, when weren't there? That was what they were all about, wasn't it? Defying the odds, surviving the impossible. Just another day at the office for "Starborn" mankind.

"If that is everything, sir, I would like to continue with assembling twenty-six."

"Good idea. I've got new dossiers for you to check out."

Night frowned. "Sir?"

"Yes, I'm afraid that we will have to change a few things. Without air support, our troops won't be able to navigate the environment. We'll need native guides for every part of Alagaesia." The First Lieutenant scowled. "Damn silly name."

"Which natives, sir?" Night asked, already seeing the problems with this. He had no problem inviting the elf and the Rider and he had already added the wounded elf to the list. But who else?

"Several ones. Do you recall the story of the Riders?"

"Sir. Elves and dragons fought to a stalemate and designed the pact to avoid bloodshed. Humans were added later." He didn't want to think about the uncanny resemblance to how the Covenant had been formed. "All terminated by Galbatorix."

"Mostly terminated, Agent. The Spartan and the Captain were the UNSC's face; the way natives recognized us. I'm not going to play their politics and neither will the others. So we need a uniform that others can relate to, but under our tactical command."

"Which natives, sir?"

Mason pushed a few papers his way. "The urgal, Nar Gahrzvog. The dwarf, Orik. I don't need to remind you of the elf and the Rider?"

Night peeked through the files on the native soldiers. Some of them were a bit impressive, but the others…"What about this one?"

"The Ra'zac? Yeah, I've been thinking about that. He's supposed to be a spy for the Shade –the good one- but we don't know his motivations. Could be a mole."

"We don't need moles within twenty-six."

"I know. So if we add Corporal Hudson and his new lady friend, we can account for this Ra'zac as well. Anyone else?"

"The ODST Sergeant Wallcroft," Night replied. "And Murtagh."

"I had been thinking about that guy too. Best way to keep an eye on him, right? We confirmed that Galbatorix's hold on him has broken. Nothing hurts your sanity more than a heavy dose of war."

Night didn't agree, but at least the kid had his mind back. That was important.

"Well then. You're dismissed. Get your uniform together; you have greenlight for Section twenty-six."

Great. This would be the most chaotic, undisciplined and volatile unit ever. If properly used, they could finally mount an effective offense and push the Covenant back. If used improperly, they would just get a bunch of noticeable and important people killed.

Risks were there so that you could take them

* * *

Having retreated to a place where it was very likely that they would not be disturbed for a while, Arya and Eragon set up the two-man tent that they had received upon arrival. It was simple but rewarding work, creating the place where you would spend the night and keep your personal belongings safe from the rain. Doing it together with Arya…it made Eragon feel at peace. Content with himself.

He watched her throw their bag inside the oddly-coloured shelter and took one last look around the environment. The last time he had been here, Murtagh and him had been fleeing an army of urgals while racing against the time to get Arya to the Varden. The panic he had felt…the fear that she would not make it. The pain that Saphira had experienced upon engaging the urgals tracking them. It felt like so long ago…like it was a completely different world. A different life. That Eragon was gone now, figuratively and literally. His body changed during the Blood-oath celebration…his mind changed by the war on the Covenant.

Were things ever going to be the same again? Or would his life be just one conflict after another, just like Starborn humanity? He didn't want that. He never wanted any of that.

"Eragon?" Arya's soft voice rang out from inside the tent. She was placing down the sleeping bags and their items, looking through the gear that the UNSC had given them. With or without her ODST suit, she looked beautiful. "What ails you?"

Eragon tore his gaze away from the mountains and tried to push the memories away. It didn't work that well. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"What not? Just…everything is just…" he didn't know what to say anymore. In the ancient language, his lies would be stopped dead. He couldn't find the words.

Arya left the tent and placed a hand on his shoulder. She had removed most of her ODST armour, baring much of her upper torso. He pale skin, the various scars that were leftovers from Durza's torture...all of them were parts of her. Arya was herself, forged by the years of experience and weeks of ordeals. She was certain of who she was –she knew her True Name.

Who was he? Apart from being Eragon and a Rider, who was he really in this play of madness and death? He had killed, but the dead weighed down heavily on his heart. He had seen people being killed and they had screamed at him in his dreams.

He had seen the killers and they would not let him go, even when he was awake. "What measure is a person?"

"I beg your pardon?" she asked with surprise.

Eragon didn't think she understood. That was alright. "What makes a man who he is? What makes a soldier, and what makes a hero?"

She sighed. "Before, I would have given you my description of those words. But now? Let me tell you this, Eragon Shadeslayer." She pulled him away from the edge, taking him towards their tent. "It does not matter what a true man is, or what makes a hero. You are you, and you must never change that."

How would he reply to that? How did he know if she was right or not? "But what if that isn't good enough? What do I need to do?"

Arya sighed and leant towards him, gently resting her forehead against his. "Nothing. This war does not need heroes anymore. Those are the days of the past."

"Alagaesia places so much emphasis on the Riders…on people with justice and power. Before all of this, one Rider could change the tide of a battle, or break a siege…people expected me to kill for them. Do things that rulers were supposed to do." Eragon halted. "And now Saphira and Thorn cannot do a thing, because they will be shot down before they can get close."

"This war isn't yours to finish, Eragon," Arya told him. She took him inside the tent and closed it off. "You fulfilled your responsibilities when you could. Nations no longer need to manipulate you into doing their bidding. Here, you and I are just soldiers. Let us bear the burden not of the Rider, but of those thrust into war."

"How can we? " He whispered. "Alagaesia is burning-"

"And we will extinguish the flames," Arya interrupted them. "As long there are those who resist, hope lives on. We are alive."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

Eragon looked away. "Keeping hope."

She nudged him gently. "You taught me."

"I did?"

"Yes. When you saved me from Durza…when you were there for me in Du Weldenvarden, both times, you showed me compassion that few individuals did. You showed me that the world was still an ever-changing place. So like that, I will keep hope as well."

"We are alive," Eragon repeated. This war was the worst thing that had happened to him yet…however, it was also proof of a future beyond fighting a foe that he did not truly want to fight. Hope that, outside of Alagaesia, something of a massive scale was still transpiring. Something that involved him and the people he knew, brought together to face a true nemesis.

He felt so conflicted. Being this close to Arya…feeling her warmth against his skin, her eyes cast on his face…it made him feel even more conflicted.

She reached for his arms and gently pushed him down. Without the dark suit that the Starborn had given her, she looked vulnerable. Looks were so very deceiving. "We are. And I am grateful. Grateful for being alive. Grateful for being here, with you."

Eragon wrapped his arms around her and lowered his head against her shoulder. Even though her frame was slender and modest, her muscles were hard and well-developed. Her skin felt warm underneath the dark undersuit. "Tomorrow, we might well die."

"Agreed. The Covenant could find us any day."

Her hands slowly reached down his back, her fingers digging deep into his skin. He lowered his mental defenses and opened his mind for her, allowing her in. Her thoughts were less organized than normal. Jumbled, frantic. Paralleling his emotions. "So this moment…is for now. For us."

The suits hadn't been made with easy removal in thought, even though both Eragon as Arya had already removed the outer components. It made things…interesting. Distracting as well. Arya gently cupped his cheek and pressed her lips against his in a warm and soft gesture and Eragon's heart nearly gave up on him. He felt his face grow red and nearly jerked away in response.

"I want to spend this moment with you," she whispered in his ear, moving her hands to take his shirt off. "Will you stay me with?"

Eragon gasped and had to stop himself from reaching for her. "No matter what happens."

Having taken his shirt off, Arya took his hands and placed them on her hips. "I have forgotten the customs of my people…how they would proceed with this."

There were customs? Eragon had never heard of those before. Customs for before and after…this…but never during. This. His mind was going all sorts of places except for where he needed it to be: at rational thoughts.

Heavens, Arya was not sure what to do either. She looked hesitant, her eyes cast downwards. What should he do?

'_Take her,' _A very female voice in his head said. '_Or bite her. Maybe both.'_

'_SAPHIRA!' _Panic swelled up in his chest as Arya casted him a curious glance.

'_Is that not what you desire? _

'_No! Not like that, I –just leave! Go do something else!'_

With one last tremor of amusement, Saphira withdrew from his mind, leaving him flustered and half in panic. "I ehm…that was…"

"Saphira?" Arya guessed.

"How did you-?"

"I felt something like that."

"Right."

"Whatever she said, you should probably not listen to it. The love of dragons is no gentle affair…you should follow your own heart, not hers."

Eragon nodded and placed his hand on Arya's thigh, wondering what was alright for him to do and what not. He had no idea how he was going to do this with this, or how far he could take this. Her welfare was too important for him to mess this up.

So how?

Caught up in his feelings and doubts as he was, he went ahead and made a decision. He leant towards the elf again and kissed her back, bringing his hands to her back, where he could feel the leather straps of her bra.

Instead of pulling back, or worse, pushing him away, Arya softly moaned and wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him closely. Eragon felt something brush against his lips and his heart skipped a beat. This felt so surreal…had he not felt the closeness of Arya's body, the gentle brush of her mind against his, he would have thought that this was some cruel attempt at manipulation.

He didn't want this to end.

Eventually, Arya broke off and gazed at his eyes. "Well? What now?"

Eragon grunted. "You want _me _to take the lead?"

There was a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Do you not wish to?"

While he didn't see himself really as a man yet, it wasn't right for him _not _to lead. He had a responsibility towards her to keep. "Of course I do!"

She placed her hands further down. "Then get started, would you?"

Taking that as his queue, Eragon started undoing her bra. He had zero experience with these things and using magic to resolve it would ruin what they had going on here. But he didn't want to disappoint her.

He took a deep breath and managed to undo the strap. He heard Arya giggle quietly and frowned. If she was going to tease him, he knew what he had to do. Oromis' scrolls had contained much information about the elves, including a detailed description of what they looked like…unclothed. Now he was fairly certain that, somehow, he was going to mess this up. But seeing how he didn't have decades worth of life experience, Arya wouldn't think any less of him.

He knew she wouldn't.

Arya gasped as he touched her skin, ran his hands across her chest and pulling the small piece of clothing that covered it away. She was so warm to the touch…so soft.

Eragon pulled her onto his legs and kissed her in her neck, electing another short moan from his elven partner. He brought his hand down to her stomach, feeling her heartrate fasten. Her hair brushed against his bare chest, her fingers dug into his thighs and her breathing hitched-

"Someone approaches," Arya suddenly said with a gasp, jumping to her feet with the agility of a cat, hastily reaching for her discarded undergarments.

Eragon rose as well, reaching out with his mind while searching for his shirt. He felt dazed; it took him a few times to get it right. "I do not know him."

"Neither do I. Stay vigilant."

Vigilance being the last thing on his mind, Eragon did the best he could to identify who was infringing on their…privacy…like that. He found a mind with strong defenses and oddly-focused thoughts-

-before Arya brushed past his skin and made him lose all his concentration again. Bad timing.

By the time they had both gotten fully dressed yet, the person had made his way to the front of the tent.

"Knock knock," a disinterested and obviously male voice spoke. "Anyone home?"

Eragon sighed in frustration and stuck his head of the tent, feeling the cold breeze of the mountain wind flowing through his neck. "What?"

It was definitely one of the Starborn soldiers. His suit looked different though; more purple than black. His helmet was sleeker too; its visor was different and curvier. How many designs did the UNSC have? "Eragon and Arya Shadeslayer?"

How did he-? "Yes?"

"If you would come with me please."

Arya had clothed herself as well, she gently pushed Eragon aside and left the tent, holding her ODST helmet underneath one arm. "What is it you seek?"

"Just the Covenant's destruction. And you?"

"Wait, what?"

The soldier crossed his arms. "We're occupied with keeping the base online. Short on manpower and munitions. We can't _hit _the Covenant like that."

"You propose a mission?"

"I propose we're putting together a group that can. A specialized taskforce intended solely for offensive purposes. Section twenty-six; best warriors this world can offer."

Arya looked at him skeptically. "You are creating a single team to deal with the Covenant?"

Eragon had to admit that it sounded odd too. The UNSC could do many things, but…this? No, that wouldn't work.

"Wetworks, sabotage, assassinations, ambushes," the soldier quickly summed up. "All according to the Art of Wat and dealing with a foe outnumbering you. But if you want to wait until the Covenant digs out your friends and family and tears them apart, be my guess. How is your mother, by the way? Saphira?"

Bristling, Eragon opened his mouth to give a sharp retort, but Arya beat him to it.

"You do need to resort to verbal trickery and abuse to get us to join," she sharply said, keeping her face calm. Her voice said everything that her expression did not, though, and once again Eragon was glad to have her as a friend.

"Obviously. Now come on; time to meet the team."

"Wait," Eragon said, remembering something important. "Who else is on this team? Richard Meester –I mean, Whiskey-Bravo? Spartan?"

"No, Spartan's occupied and Meesters had his right hand amputated because of extreme nerve damage."

_What? _But…he had healed him! Pulled the spike out, jammed it in the Brute's face and healed the wound! Had it been that bad? Or worse, had it been his fault?

"Any other questions

* * *

Murtagh stood guard behind Nasuada, one hand on Zar'roc and the other one clenched into a fist. He kept a close eye on the massive creature that was supposed to be their allies, hoping that this meeting would stay peaceful. But in the case it did not…he was thinking up ways to kill them before they could harm his dear ones. He would have to kill five of the strange creatures within seconds, cleaving through the neck of the big one with his sword and using magic to snuff out the lives of the smaller ones. He could not use simple magic to end their lives though, for he knew not what abilities protected them. An energy lance to spear their hearts would work, but they might not hold their hearts at the same positions as humans did.

The other leader of the Varden, Ajihad, was present as well, if unarmed. He too had guards, but only one of them was Starborn. The rest were Varden soldiers with swords and spears, probably too feeble to stop the creatures in case of hostilities. He was the one who spoke with the large one. "So we are on our own once more?"

"In a way," the creature replied with its thundering voice. Murtagh couldn't help but feel somewhat intimidated by the thing's odd physique; it had face somewhat like a dragon, but also four mandibles. It's armour was as dark as the scales found on Galbatorix's dragon, but oddly pulsating. It was as tall as a Kull, yet carried itself with the elegance of a warrior. "Our forces are limited, but we will fight."

So many things he had missed. While he had been spirited away to Uru'baen, Eragon had contended with alien creatures, monsters and demons. A massive creature made out of crystals and fire had laid waste to captured cities, armies had been destroyed and an entire civilization had descended upon Alagaesia.

"But why do you fight, if may be so bold to ask?" Nasuada said. "How did you find this place?"

How indeed. How could these three different groups all have found their way to this land, on separate occasions? First the Starborn, utilizing their gear to cripple the Empire and separate him from Galbatorix's hold…then the Covenant, with their monster and butchers. Now these beings? How absurd. He wouldn't trust them. He didn't even trust the Starborn humans!

"We do not let go by the same concept of politics as you do," the creature growled. "We arrived at your world for the same reason the humans did."

"But what is that reason?"

Murtagh couldn't take his eyes off Nasuada. Most of his life had been decided and ruled for him, one step at a time. Compassion and understanding had been rare, as were friendship and trust. When he had fled from the king…even the lasts scraps in his life had disappeared. Those that knew of his existence would not look at him. Women would not have him, men would despise him. They all viewed the world in such simple, childish terms. Good and evil. Dark and bright. Well, he had seen it all. He had seen the worst during his time in the Empire and he had seen the best here, now. He had seen Galbatorix, heard his whispers, felt the pain and suffering of having his mind broken and his will subjugated.

And he had known friendship, felt compassion. Seen true allies. In the Empire, soldiers would obey each other. Help and laugh with each other. But that all changed when the fight was joined, where only training and discipline kept them in order. It was the same with the Varden.

But the UNSC army did not. He had heard their soldiers call each other "brother" in the fights, giving their all for matters far beyond their duty.

Given their all for _him. _He, who had nothing to with their fight. They had fought alongside him, covered him as he and Thorn had laid waste to the Covenant. Their soldiers were true of heart. It was just that their leaders were too shrouded in shadows to be trusted.

There was no reply to that. This meeting had no purpose. It just…was. The creature had come on Ajihad's demand, to explain what would happen to his warriors. How the Varden would survive this war. And they still did not know.

Murtagh did not care for the Varden or the Empire. He was…conflicted. On one hand, both sides had caused him nothing but misery and pain. But on the other…he still had Eragon and Nasuada. His ally, his brother…his friend. And Nasuada…she had accepted him for who he was. Shown him sympathy and understanding, but not pity. He liked that. Pity was something he would never accept, but feeling understood…that was a good feeling. It brought hope.

The massive alien did not respond. He snorted, glanced around his own unit, but kept silent.

Thorn did not like it either. '_These beings smell of death,'_ he said with his deep voice. '_There have badness carved in their skin.'_

_Badness…_Thorn still had the mind of a youngling. His choice of words was especially childish, but he did not know better. To him, it was endearing. To Thorn, it had to be frustrating beyond believe. '_They called it the Human-Covenant war. Some massive conflict spanning hundreds of worlds. These things? They killed humans. Lots of them.'_

'_Then why do we not kill them?'_

Why not indeed. The idea of a war so massive that his own world could have easily been consumed had initially filled Murtagh with dread. But then, after having fought the same enemies and finding them not incapable of dying, that had changed. Dread had turned to determination and despair had turned to a lust for war. If these enemies wanted to threaten his race, Alagaesia be damned –he would fight them. The Varden and the Empire were nothing compared to that. He and Thorn could spend their lives fighting for nothing here, or doing something meaningful out there. He knew which one he would go for. '_Because we cannot win without them.'_

'_I do not want an enemy guarding my flank.'_

Perhaps it was because of the suffering that Galbatorix had brought down upon them, but Thorn was still surprisingly simple with these things. Good things were trusted, bad things needed to be killed. It wasn't that simple, unfortunately. In the eyes of some of the people here, _they _were the bad things.

"I think wisdom lies in defending this keep for now," Nasuada said. "Attacking the Covenant will have to wait."

"Agreed."

Adter that, Murtagh wanted to go Nasuada and talk to her, ask her things. But fate had different things in mind.

The metallic device strapped to his leg buzzed and a voice came from the series of small holes in its front. The voice of fate, voculated by Switchboard, their communications officer. "_Murtagh, this is Switchboard. We need you to patrol the western entrance and watch for Covenant patrols. Secondary objective is to check for life signs in Bravo Delta."_

"Got it," Murtagh told the device. To Thorn he said, "The high-ups want us to dance once more. Come on."

So he bid his farewell to Nasuada and headed for the western side of the Beor Mountains, where he had once fled from an army of urgals, before Thorn. Before all of this. When his life had been simply fleeing from one city to the other, never daring to get attached to someone. It didn't take him long to reach the pass where he had once rode, where enemy armies would have to cross to reach their camp. Apart from the big opening to the North, of course.

And they weren't alone.

'_There she lies,'_ Thorn quietly said. '_The black-scaled feral one.'_

'_Aeraleth,'_ Murtagh gently told him. '_You know her. She fought alongside you.'_

'_She. She is not dead.'_

Murtagh could imagine that she wasn't. He could see her flanks rising and falling, slowly. Unsteadily. As if she was in great pain. Which, he supposed, she was.

Not everybody had heard it. Even he didn't believe it until he had visited the place. The last fight with the Covenant had taken many lives, including the Spartan's. They had killed him, but it didn't look like he had understood. He had stumbled back to the base before succumbing to his wounds, just a few hundred meters away from medical care and help. Probably died right beside his dragon. A brief moment of peace for him, a lifetime of suffering for her.

At least, that was what Murtagh had concluded upon visiting the site. He had never seen the body, never saw the Spartan get hit. Just the patches of blood and strange fluids in the sand…and the state of his dragon. It was an awful sight to behold, a grieving dragon. She didn't keen or scream or attempt to bring down the heavens in her rage. She just…was. Unmoving. Catatonic.

He did not suppose that there was anything he could do to help her. All of this was just so…difficult to take in. One moment he had been just been trying to move without Galbatorix's consent, having to deal with that abusive Shade he kept around, the next he was part of some massive war that had united elves, dwarves and urgals under one banner. The only thing he could do to even try to take it all in was just to keep moving. Helping, working, whatever he could.

Thorn did not look like he dared to get closer to Aeraleth. She was still larger than he was and several times more aggressive than Saphira. And now that she had lost her Rider…she might well attempt to murder him should he come close.

Not that Murtagh would let her. If it came to that, and Aeraleth became a danger, he supposed that only he and Thorn could stop her without having to kill her. Eragon might be able to stomach it, but he would hesitate. And there was nothing as dangerous as hesitation in a fight.

'_Why stop here?' _ He asked his partner. '_Why visit her?'_

Thorn spread his wings and snorted, a small jet of flame exiting his nostrils as he did. '_I needed to be certain.'_

'_Are you?'_

'_Not yet. I doubt I will be.'_

He had no clue as to what that was supposed to mean. '_Then let us leave. We have work to attend to.'_

'_Indeed.'_

Together, Murtagh and Thorn took the air again. The UNSC had dire need of their unique set of skills. Thorn's strength allowed him to lift heavy things such as the "Warthogs" and other items that would otherwise demand manpower or precious fuel to do so., as well as large rocks and other pieces of debris. The flying vehicles could not fly long without having to land again, so they had to use Saphira and Thorn to transport soldiers as well. He wasn't very happy with that, but he knew that his own feelings were not more important than the mission.

What else was new?

Their combined magical prowess surpassed that of many an elf, allowing them to do things that were important for their continued survival. They could treat injuries, recover hard-to-reach supplies and cover up tracks that might lead the enemy to them. Creating traps was easy to do and maintaining the good gunner-positions was also an important responsibility.

When Murtagh returned to the UNSC camp to confirm his mission success and help out with the structure placement, it turned that somebody else was already waiting for them. He knew, because the man basically confronted them when they were taking gear to a position that needed it.

Thorn knew it too. '_He is here for us'_

"Who are you?" Murtagh asked, not even doubting the words of his partner.

"Undertow," the soldier replied with an uninterested voice. He didn't look like the average UNSC soldier; his armour had a dark purple tone to it and his weapons were off. Different. His helmet fully concealed his head, much like Spartan's had -only this man looked familiar.

"I know you. You were there during the fight against that big thig. The walker."

"Sure. Come with me."

Murtagh placed a hand on the pommel of Zar'rock and stiffened. "Why?"

The soldier sighed. "Listen, we're occupied with keeping the base online. Short on manpower and munitions. We can't _hit _the Covenant like that."

"So?"

"So we're putting together a group that can. A specialized taskforce intended solely for offensive purposes. Section twenty-six; best warriors this world can offer."

He wasn't going to trust this. Murtagh had had enough problems with people offering him things; this had to be a trap. "Not interested."

Whoever Undertow was, he didn't appear convinced. "You can always return to your normal duties…lifting heavy things, fixing problems, taking care of the base. Things that we've got the elves doing."

Murtagh gritted his teeth. He _hated _being compared to the elves –good for nothing creatures, stupid and blind. "And Thorn?"

"What about him?" Why would this Undertow sound so bored?

"Does he join your group as well?"

"Our first priority is to regain air dominance. Until then, all dragons will get shot out of the air before they can get close. So no, not in the beginning."

The Covenant dominated the skies? He couldn't have that No way. He would not see Thorn confined to the Beor mountains for the rest of his life. "Fine. I'm in. Who else?"

"People. I'll take you to them."

Murtagh nodded. "You do that." He did not like this man. He did not want to have anything to do with his plans and his special group of soldiers.

Undertow led him through a narrow mountain pass, where Thorn could only follow them from the sky. The pas led through a cave and into another valley, smaller and more secluded than the one they had built their camp around. A series of small tents and boxes rested near a crack in the wall, wide enough to allow cover from above.

'_Thorn, return to the camp.'_

'_And leave you defenseless?'_

'_Thank you for that,'_ Murtagh wryly told his partner as he followed the soldier towards the tents. '_I'm never defenseless. Find Saphira, keep yourself busy. I'll be back soon enough.'_

'_I will come for you if you do not return, partner-of-mind.'_

'_I know you will.'_

With Thorn on the leave, there was nothing left to guard Murtagh should this be a trap. But he was far from defenseless indeed; his magical prowess was still large enough that he could kill several of the Starborn soldiers within seconds, should they decide to attack him.

It looked like there was another camp ahead, where Undertow was taking him across a really narrow path that felt like it could give away at any moment. Only when they arrived did Murtagh see that the camp was occupied; there were multiple people inhabiting the tents, setting up cooking items and gearing up with equipment. Self-made belts, improvised sheaths and straps on "native" outfits, these definitely weren't Starborn soldiers. At least not all of them.

Not only that, he also recognized most of them. He saw the cousin of the dwarf king, Orik, as well as an elf with dark burn-scars and the large urgal chief. And-

Murtagh tightened his fists and sucked in a breath of air. Memories of pain and humiliation and abuse rushed back to him and took a hold of his mind, not letting go. Crimson hair, blood-red eyes, pale as skin as paper…nobody would miss her for what she was. The Shade was there too. Not _her_, but still one of them. Flanked by one of the few Starborn soldiers no less. What was going on here?

"Welcome," Undertow spoke, walking straight past several of the collected warriors and heading into a tent without alerting those inside of his presence. "To Section-twenty-six, the team solely created for opening up an offense that the Covenant will not forget."

And the Shade wasn't the only one. He saw his brother and Arya, the elven princess that they had saved from the Empire's clutches. The one that the King had been so furious about. They were already clad in their UNSC combat gear. So they were part of this team too? That made him feel somewhat better. At least someone had his back now.

Looking around, Murtagh took in who were supposed to be his allies in this team. Eragon, Arya, Orik…the urgal, the Shade and her human companion, the elf…and Undertow. Was this the team that was going togo fight the Covenant?

They were so dead.

Being here…this place with these people…it brought back so many bad memories. The King's wrath hadn't even been the worst of it; he had never met the man face-to-face. When he had his mind broken, he had been blindfolded. When Formora had made him suffer, she had done so on her own. For fun.

"Alright, now that most of the gang is here, let's get this party started." Undertow marched out of the tent again with a handful of maps and some guns. "My name is Field Agent Undertow, member of Bravo Delta's Division's Section Twenty-Five or, better said, Bravo-Bravo-Bravo-Bravo Delta's Section Twenty-Five. Because these words don't mean a thing to you, I will go ahead and skip the rest about me. The questions exist out of the who, the what, the why and the how. The rest is classified on a will-be-killed basis. Yes?"

Was "no" an option?

"Get on with the story," the kull growled.

Murtagh saw other people as well now. One of the black-clad troopers and another elf, this one sticking by his side.

"Great. Who? All of the people gathered here except for those who aren't. What? Executing important black operations against Covenant presence on Alagaesia, undermining their presence with assassinations, wetworks, sabotage, ambushes and false information. How? That's the best part; you get to figure that out on your own."

Orik chuckled. "On our own, aye? Then you will have yourself a disastrous defeat on your shady hands in no time."

"Yeah, we thought something like that might happen. So, while the work in the field with be up to the expertise of Sir Hudson and Sir Wallcroft over there –no, don't say hi- we S25 will be designing, evaluating and issuing your missions."

"If I understand this correctly," the non-scarred non-princess elf spoke, "you will be giving us missions, but we shall have all creativity and control about how we complete them?"

"I just said that. You should already know the why; global extinction and death of loved ones and all that. Now for the how...my favorite part. Equipment."

"Hold on, we're just going to do this? No training, no support?" Eragon said, displaying more sense than he had shown the last time Murtagh had seen him before the Burning Plains."

"You should already be trained in fighting and all present UNSC personnel will assist with tips, tricks and potential life-saving guidance. Now, gear. No axes or swords and then engaging in close combat. That will result in the death of you, or worse, your teammates."

This Undertow had to have given a great many rousing speeches in his past if he managed to make subjects like this sound trivial and uninteresting.

"So choose your equipment and choose it wisely, because you will be specializing in it. Each of you will take an important place in S26, invaluable to the rest. Questions? No? Great."

"Actually," the soldier named Wallcroft said, "I do have a question. These guys here ain't Special Forces. You spooks want to whip them into form, do so without involving perfectly-working units."

"Not my problem. These "guys" here all performed superbly in the field and we need to hit the Covenant. Want to complain, do so after the war is over."

Murtagh saw how this was going. This man was using his influence and rank to put them in a position they could not refuse. And they could not refuse this, as it was their best way of opening an offense against the Covenant. Was there anyone who did _not _want to manipulate him into doing their bidding?

"What about weapons?" Eragon asked. "Ammo is sparse and we don't know how to use most of your equipment."

"Like I said, specialize. You will be working as a team, using magic and your skills to keep yourself alive in the meantime. So, any volunteers for the marksman position?"

Murtagh gritted his teeth, but refrained from saying anything. This felt so forced…like a low blow to get rid of them. He would show them –he wasn't going to die in this war of theirs.

"If you're going to force them into doing your dirty work mate, you should at least let the specialists handle it," Wallcroft said. "Corporal Hudson, you are trained with most of the UNSC weaponry?"

Hudson nodded. "I am. Agen Undertow? You can leave. We'll handle the rest."

Undertow merely shrugged in response, dumped several duffel bags on the ground and walked away. Murtagh, who had been expecting at least some form of confrontation between the "Agent" and the kull or the elves, couldn't help but feel somewhat disappointed. But now that he was here –forced into a suicide mission- he might as well have a look at their inventory. Weapons interested him and these strange ones were no exception.

"Right then," Wallcroft muttered, reaching for the discarded bags and pulling out one of the weapons. "Who wants to see the dwarf use a Shotgun?"


	38. The Undertow

]"_I see, thank you for that information. Moving on…what can you tell me about Haze?"_

"_Haze? Hmmm…he's not afraid to take the public eye."_

"_So he is likes attention?"_

"_I think you misinterpret my words. He is not afraid to take attention. Like a scapegoat, but then willing. You see, our agents are not supposed to be held responsible for their actions. They have their own ways to prevent that from happening, but sometimes it becomes impossible to deny something. Haze has a knack for throwing systems in disarray. All to Section twenty-five's benefit, of course."_

"_Right."_

* * *

Covenant vessels had a raw beauty to them. As warships, they were without a match. Their weapons were light-years better than what the UNSC had to offer and their shields could shrug off attacks that would cripple the largest vessels, while retaliating with lethal efficiency. The _When Duty Ends, _on the other hand, had their weapons fixed throughout the ship. They had to face the enemy to be able to fight them while the Covenant could unleash their lethal weaponry at all any direction. They were, without a doubt, the perfect tools of war.

To Adrian Wren, their appearance always went coupled with dread and hatred that he could never show to the men and women around him. Everybody knew that, even with the advancements in technology and their tactics, a one-on-one fight with any Covenant ship could easily result in the destruction of the _When Duty Ends_. The Halberd-Class Destroyer could only take so much punishment before its armour buckled and today, it had most likely reached that limit.

"Second MAC still inoperable," Lieutenant Voerman said. "Damage to internal systems is too great to repair, sir. We're going to need more hardware."

Hardware, or the magic-users down on the surface of Alagaesia. They could repair things without the need for rare or expensive equipment and it would spare them the hardware. They needed to get to the surface for another crucial mission as well, but there was one problem.

There still were two frigates and a carrier between them and the planet, as well as a damaged Destroyer tailing them. Performing a rendezvous in the middle of such a warzone to retrieve one Phantom dropship was more dangerous than committing suicide with a hand grenade, but the tactical benefits were…immense.

"That's too bad," he replied. "We'll look into that once we get planet-side." Keeping up appearances for the crew during times of stress were a crucial part of being a CO. If you couldn't motivate your officers and navigators when they needed to perform, you weren't fit to lead. That was simple. "I'm going to be honest here, our options are limited." Making a low-orbit rendezvous to catch a hijacked Phantom dropship and then escaping with said dropship all while being tailed by Covenant ships was more than just limited; it was practically suicidal. They couldn't even match one enemy cruiser at this rate, let alone a Destroyer, a Carrier and several Frigates. They were in no position to win.

It was the least of his troubles now. Another digital message appeared on his screen, despite the complete isolation that their ship was supposed to be in right now. "GREETINGS RECLAIMER."

Wren swore under his breath as he ignored the desire to kick the console. He typed back, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"TO PROVIDE ASSISTENCE."

He frowned. "HOW?"

"THE OTHER RECLAIMER MUST REMAIN INTACT."

It wasn't that easy. Spartan zero-zero-seven had been reported as KIA in the fighting. The details were vague, but in the end they wouldn't even matter. With Maine gone, the UNSC ground forces would most likely be destroyed. His death had been reported as of…forty-five minutes ago. That meant he would beyond most forms of medical treatment that could serve to resuscitate him. Luckily, there were…other ways of bringing back the clinically dead. It would cost them a lot, both in materials as time. Recovery would take at least weeks, multiple organs would need to be flash-cloned…it would stress the limits of their abilities.

But it would be worth it. Even a crippled and barely-moving Spartan would be capable of sniping, wetworks, demolition works and boosting morale.

From the moment he had heard about the SS-II project, Captain Wren had been feeling like he had been taking place in something that he would never be able to escape from again. Those who had refused to work with the original SPARTAN-II project had been made to disappear overnight and if he had second thoughts about this, he would most likely be killed off as well. But…he didn't feel comfortable around the Spartan. There was something very wrong with that soldier.

It didn't matter now, he supposed. All that mattered now was finding out how to make a proper rendezvous and get the soldier in a cryo-tube. Mentally-degraded or not, zero-zero-seven was still one of them. The UNSC took care of their own.

"WHAT IS IT TO YOU?" he asked the AI. Gilderien did not look like a Forerunner name to him.

"THE OTHER ONE MUST BE STOPPED."

"WHICH OTHER ONE?"

"ANOTHER LEAF APPROACHES; A VESSEL HAS BEEN IDENTIFIED AT THE FAR END OF THE PLANET, A LONG DISTANCE AWAY. IT LIES OUTSIDE THE DETECTING RANGE OF THE JIRALHANAE."

Another vessel? "IS IT HUMAN?" And how did this AI know the name of the Covenant races?

"SANGHEILI."

A Sangheili ship, here? It had to be Separatists…it explained the occasional ghost signatures that he had been seeing occasionally, but…why here? Was it the Forerunner cache? If they were indeed Separatists, he could use new tactics and change the situation. He was not willing to bet the lives of his crew on it though. "HOW WILL YOU ASSIST?"

"I SHALL PERFORM A DISTRACTION FOR YOU TO COLLECT THE RECLAIMER."

Wren gritted his teeth. The annoying tendencies of what had to be an AI were truly aggravating. "He had ruled out the idea of a hacker long ago, but it was still hard to understand that an advanced creation like this would be so…unhelpful. "HOW?"

A ping appeared on his radar, right on the boundary of what it could detect. Too far away for his equipment to pin down. The location of the Sangheili ship?

"THE SANGHEILI VESSEL HAS BECOME KNOWN TO THE JIRALHANAE VESSELS AS TWO POINT THREE SECONDS AGO. IT IS SUGGESTED THAT YOU MOVE WITH HASTE."

"Sir," one of his navigators cried, "unknown contact on extreme range."

"Ignore it," the Captain immediately replied. Now that the rules and odds were against him once more, it was time to cheat. To change the rules and odds. Their priorities were simple, their tactics were not. He was not one to look a given horse in the mouth and if this AI was somehow capable of revealing the Separatist ship to the Brutes and turn it into one big bullseye, he would take it. "Bring us around to course nine-two-zero to eight-two-two and reduce engine capacity to fifty percent. No need to alarm them."

As the navigators jumped to their tasks, he initiated the communications channel to soldiers who had commandeered the stolen Phantom. It did not look like the AI wanted to say anything more. s "This is Captain Wren, what's your status, over?"

The reply didn't take long. "_This is Second Lieutenant Riley, sir. We are leaving the atmosphere in twenty seconds, but we've got Seraphs on our tail. They're asking for codes we don't have, sir."_

During the last months of the Human-Covenant War, multiple infiltrations and hijacks had been performed by specialized teams. But those operations had only been successful because of tight schedules and AI support. The _When Duty Ends _did not have AI Support. Which made Gilderien even more baffling. "Stall them. We'll send interceptors to engage, Wren out." He took a deep breath and then called, "I want our remaining Longsword Escort suited up and ready to go ten minutes ago!"

"_Sir, we have a critical time period before recovery becomes impossible for the Spartan. If we can't make it…"_

The pilot seemed to disagree, as he could be heard yelling, "_We'll make it!"_

Wren could appreciate motivated personnel. If they could get the Spartan into cryo, there might still be a chance for him. That was a big "might" though. Their medical personnel were terribly understaffed and they might have to…

…improvise. Magic was incapable of resurrecting the dead, that was what queen Islanzadí had told him. But combined with UNSC technology…that "when" might turn into a different word. If they could get their hands on a powerful magic-user, they would be that much closer to victory.

"Support is on the way, hang on tight."

Soon the ramifications of the AI's actions become noticeable. Several Covenant vessels left the surface of the planet to move towards the Separatist vessel that had to lie in dark space. It provided them with an opportunity, but their timing had to be perfect.

Of course, the UNSC hadn't made Wren a Captain just because they felt like it. Timing was one of his specialties. "Course correction seven-three-zero at that last one. Prep the MAC and spin up Archer pods X through Z."

The crewmembers hurried to perform their tasks, making it possible for Wren to keep an eye on the hijacked Phantom. Their remaining Longsword Interceptors had already deployed and were racing towards the planet to kill the Seraph Fighters that were chasing after the Phantom. He had always hated those ships; while they might not hold up much to the ability of UNSC pilots, they packed a lot of punch and could wipe out an army within minutes using their plasma charges. They were a testimony to the hardship that mankind had suffered throughout the war.

So when the ace pilots of the _When Duty Ends _raced towards the teardrop-shaped vessels, Wren felt a grim sense of satisfaction. Their training had always been superior to that of the Covenant. Skillful piloting made up for the difference in tech and firepower. In fighter-based combat, the UNSC had always been able to hold their own.

With the immediate threat out of the way, he was free to think about what he had just experienced. It had to be an outdated Forerunner AI that kept spamming his channels, but apparently there was also another one present on this world. Another AI that, according to this one, had to be stopped. Stopped from doing what?

He would concentrate on that later. He calculated the maximum speed of the Destroyer when only traveling at a third of its capacity and placed a waypoint on the map to guide the Phantom to it. "Drop our engine capacity to thirty-three percent. Phantom Dropship, this is Captain Wren. What's your ETA?"

"_At our current speed, we'll hit the Duty in under sixty seconds-"_

A different waypoint it would be.

"_-but it looks like we've got company. Those 'Swords you sent attracted some big fish, Captain."_

Wren could see it. That enemy Destroyer and Frigate were moving away from the surface of the planet, heading straight for the _Duty_. A collision course, no less. "Turn this tub around. Set a course back to the asteroid field and prepare to open up hangar bay Two for a hot landing." He then opened up the communications channel, ship-wide, before giving his next order. "All medical personnel, this is Captain Wren. Prep for immediate surgery and cryo-stabilizing and take your gear to the second hangar bay. Do not, I repeat do _not_ enter the bay until the Dropship has touched down. Wren out."

He couldn't risk a stray shot taking out all his medics at once. A group of ODST's would be heading down there first to secure the captured ship and make sure it was a hundred percent green.

The Captain calculated a new course and placed a second waypoint on the map. The ship was slowly turning and presenting its side to the incoming dropship, but they weren't turning fast enough. "Detonate port emergency thrusters on my command."

"Sir."

All what was left was waiting. Waiting a minute for a captured Phantom with two covenant warships on rapid approach wasn't one of his favorite ways to spent time. His crew had nerves of steel, but even they wouldn't like these odds. They had strained the _Duty_ to her limits already and a direct engagement with any enemy vessel out in the open could only end in disaster.

If only they could perform the same Slipspace jumps as the Covenant could.

Finally, when the Dropship was four seconds out, he called, "Seal hangar bay two!" Two seconds later he added, "detonate thrusters."

An explosion tremored through the ship and the _When Duty Ends _was blasted ninety degrees to its left, nearly aligning it with the asteroid field around the moon.

"Engines at three-hundred percent. Get us out of here, Lieutenant."

"Sir!"

His timing had been good enough. The Phantom had slipped inside just before the hangar bay-doors had closed and he had won several precious seconds.

The ODST were probably making their way to the hijacked dropship now. "All medical personnel, be advised; you can now enter the second hangar bay."

Now here was hoping that his ground forces could knock down the Covenant AA guns. He had the fullest confidence in their capability, but they were in way over their heads. There was something hostile down there on the surface of Alagaesia and it sure as hell wasn't any magic-user or alien.

* * *

**19:22 local time**

The present members of the newly-forged organization had finally come to terms with their new position in the loosely-organized army that had been left in the wake of the devastating Covenant attacks. The weapons had been divided, the gear had been handed out and several heated tactically-placed bonfires had been heated up. The air of the evening had grown considerably cold up here in the mountains and even the gathered elves were starting to feel the bite of the lack of stability, structure and living creatures around them.

Arya, who had spent decades traveling around the Beors and Surda, did not consider it that much of an issue. But the others did. She could hear them conversing, out in another camp. They were in despair, driven to misery by the stress and pain and loss. She wished she could help them. Do something to alleviate their pain. But she was not the monarch; her mother was. And it was the task of the monarch to stand by her people in times of need.

Arya lowered her head and sighed. Even the members of the supposed tight Section twenty-six had split up for tonight, finally taking the time to nurse their wounds and face their feelings. At least…most of them did. The rest respected their privacy and left them be. Orik and Gahrzvog were among the ones who had not taken terrible losses in the course of the war. Compared to others, they were fine.

The others…were not so fine. Even the Starborn soldiers had finally broken under the stress and pain of nonstop war, though they had their own ways of showing it. Ways that were…underdeveloped at best. For all their abilities and wisdom, they were still like children when it came to facing themselves. Though Arya did not consider herself an expert in dealing with traumatic experiences, she had had decades worth of experience in learning how her own mind worked. She knew her emotions and she knew how to control them. It was a form of discipline that the Starborn did not seem to possess like that. They did know how to control their emotions, but they did not know how to deal with them. In that they were like children to her.

Wallcroft had walked away without saying anything besides an introverted mutter about sentry-duty. Hudson had laid out his sleeping bag and gone to sleep with no covering and his rifle lying beside him. Both of them were not older than three decades and Arya doubted whether they had fully come to terms with what they did.

At least they performed actions to keep themselves together. Others did not. Eragon was starting to doubt his place in this world and there was only so much doubt that he could feel before he would lose hope. That could not happen and she knew it, but what she did not know was how to prevent this all from breaking apart. Murtagh was with him now, perhaps reconciling, perhaps just sharing his stories.

A hundred years of living in Alagaesia and there was naught she could to help those around her now. She could only watch as the morale of all her allies just…faded away.

Daenlith and the Shade –Raia- had both taken place at a bonfire at the far corner of their camp. No…that was not right. Daenlith had been sitting there since Section had been formed and the bonfire had been constructed near her to keep her from freezing to death in the cold night that was to come. And though Raia had claimed to want to keep an eye on the Houseless' health, she had taken place there to stay away from all others as well. And neither of them had spoken a single word since they had come here.

Even when Arya had taken place at their side to keep both of them in her sight, they had not acknowledged her presence. Only Yaele seemed to understand what it took to keep up hopes. She was traveling between the various split-up groups, helping make food, suggest uses for equipment and generally being kind.

Too few people displayed kindness these days.

"Over several hours, the Agent shall return," Arya softly spoke to the two silent ladies. "Our first assignment shall take place in this very night. You should prepare yourselves."

They did not reply. What reason did they have to? They had been forcibly recruited and they had no reason left to fight. Whatever had happened to Daenlith had left her scarred and mute, without any semblance of faith or a will to fight. It could not just be the scarring; they did not deform her like scars created by a hewing sword or crushing rocks. Perhaps it was only idle hope to her, but she was nowhere near unsightly to look at. Just different.

Arya would not mention it to her. Some things were better left unspoken.

"Do you not require sleep?" she asked Raia, hoping that both of them would be willing to bury their differences when the time came.

After a few moments of silence, the Shade gave her reply. "Sometimes."

With nothing else to say besides the obvious, Arya fell silent. Times like these frustrated her immensely; was there nothing she could do at all?

An hour passed, then two. She utilized the spare time she had by attempting to calm her thoughts and recover the energy she had lost in the past few, hectic days. Occasionally, Murtagh or Yaele would pass by with food or water. Once Murtagh shared a concern of his with her; that ships were taking off and landing, as if secret operations were being staged, because the UNSC had said that there was no reason for them to use their ships.

She made no attempt to feign her disinterest in that matter. It was not their position to doubt the actions of their allies, no matter what they had been told. In sustaining the vulnerable resistance movement that they had taken in, the Starborn leaders had a right to decide how to fight this war. It was their ancient foe after all, and not of the races of Alagaesia.

Another hour passed before the first sign of their missions showed up, in the form of another Agent. He approached their position from a dark patch of rocks, from below. Raia sensed him too, though Daenlith did not stir.

This was going to become complicated.

"Alright people," the man said as he climbed up the rocky path. Despite him being human, he still managed to navigate the treacherous path without incident. His voice was different. "Break's over, time to move out. I hope you gathered your weapons and equipment, 'cause this is going to become difficult without some proper planning."

"Who are you?" Arya demanded as the man reached their camp, ready to use magic within a moment's notice. If her time with these people had taught her one thing, it was that she could not simply trust strangers who showed up at the border of the camp.

"Call me Reaper."

"How do we know you're with us?"

"Suspicion. Good. Give me the challenge then."

She halted. "What?"

He halted as well. "The challenge. Code-words. You challenge me, I respond."

"I am not sure I follow."

"Did ehm…did the Agent before me give you a code-word before he left?"

"No."

"Dick. Fine, we'll get to that later. You're Arya, right? The princess?"

"Just a soldier now."

"Good! Set your suspicion aside for now, 'cause I got something to tell you all."

Arya did not budge. "I will need proof."

"Look, do you know anyone else who wears a suit like this?"

"Outside your group-"

"Didn't think so. You see I'm armed; if I wanted you dead, you would already be. Come on, we'll get the group together."

Ayra had heard people claim such things before, but she never thought that such sayings could actually be backed up. In her current state though…considering the range of the weapons of these soldiers, he might actually be capable of taking their lives without them ever noticing it.

She needed to do better. Be sharper; her allies would not be the only ones to assault them from range.

This "Reaper" as he called himself pressed deeper into their camp, gathering the remaining members of their group as he went along. Arya kept a close eye on him, unwilling to risk the small chance that his cause was traitorous. The outsiders might have forced them all together, but she would not lose anyone else. They all had a responsibility to each other and it was time that she accepted hers too.

Raia prodded Hudson with her toe and backed off as the soldier shot upright with his pistol in his hand. She then helped him upright. Wallcroft came sliding down a rocky path with his rifle at the ready, but he did not question Reaper either.

When everybody had been roughly woken or otherwise brought to the attention of their visitor, Reaper explained the cause for his presence. Actually he just placed down a map on the ground and seemed to think that would suffice. Without any bonfires around his chosen spot.

"So I take it we got our first mission?" Wallcroft asked.

"In the darkness even?" Orik said. "We'll be blind as bats!"

Arya took offense at that one. The little dwarves might not be capable of seeing when there was no light, but the elves were. She could see the map and what was drawn on it, after all.

How sharp were the eyes of the Starborn? Were they the same as the humans on Alagaesia? If so, they could not be efficient at fighting in the darkness.

As they clearly had some successful operations in the night, their sight had to be sharper.

"We'll get to that. Your assignment first. It looks like the Covenant is planning on staying here for a while –they've already set up one of their Mantis installations."

Both Hudson as Wallcroft made sounds of frustration, but there was no response from any of the races. That had to mean trouble.

"Mantis whats?" Gahrzvog asked with his rumbling voice. "The invaders appointed their king?"

Though that could not be what Reaper meant, it was still an interesting question. Did the Covenant have a monarchy? Who led them? Could the UNSC not send Spartan and several soldiers to murder that leader?

"Negative," the Agent replied. "Marines, gather the gear and prep for outfitting."

"I'm an ODST," Wallcroft said, not without frustration.

"Just do it." When the two soldiers had taken their leave, he continued. "A type-27 Mantis Installation is a massive weapon on three legs, capable of taking down ships from great distances. But only ships, as it's mounted and incapable of aiming at the ground."

"So that's why we can't use the dragons?" Murtagh asked.

"Not really; any Banshee or Seraph could kill a dragon. But the Mantis is why we can't get our own air-support in that region."

Eragon crossed his arms. "What about those big ships? Aren't they more dangerous?"

"They've turned their attention to the forests at the north and the region beyond. There's only one CRS-Class cruiser in low orbit above Alagaesia and we will get to that in later operations."

The forests? But Du Weldenvarden was still being evacuated! Where would her people go? And why would the Covenant focus on the other lands? What the sought lay here, did it not?

"Now, a taskforce is dispatched to retrieve a stranded gunship. We get that operational, we have good fire-support. But that Mantis will nail anything that gets within a dozen miles radius."

"Point it on the map," Yaele said. "They won't keep it."

"Here," Reaper said, pointing to an area above Surda, "in this town. Furnost, I believe. It's hidden in the forest, so we can't ID it. Your mission is to infiltrate the forest, avoid being spotted by Covenant patrols and sabotage that gun. Escaping alive is also important."

So their first mission was sabotage? They were ill suited for infiltration though; how would they get close to that forest? How would they avoid patrols and how were they going to destroy something large enough to threaten the ships of the UNSC? There were too many parts to this plan that did not make sense.

Hudson and Wallcroft returned in the meantime, both of them carrying bags with weapons and equipment. "I believe that Orik had the M90?" The ODST joked.

"You keep stating that!" Orik replied, heatedly pointing a finger at the soldier. "Show me that weapon of yours or I will club you over the head!"

"Sure." Wallcroft dug around in one of the bags and produced a gun that looked familiar to Arya. She had seen it used in the war before, cutting down the Brutes with single shots. It also had a powerful kick to it. "Here you go."

He flung the weapon at Orik, who barely managed to catch it before it slammed into his face. It had some weight behind it though, as he staggered from the impact. "By my beard, this looks beautiful."

"It's a fine piece of work," Hudson told him. "You point it the direction of trouble and the trouble simply disappears."

"Can we please focus on the mission?" Reaper asked. "Taking out the Mantis has secondary effects. We can get an UAV in the air to track the Covenant troops or take out single targets with mounted Gauss weapons once it's gone, but until then, stealth is key. There is only one extraction available once the installation's gone and until then, there will be no support from us."

"We get it," Hudson said. "We'll formulate our own strategy to take that thing out. Supporting gear?"

"Silencers, five thermal ops and a satchel of C12 explosives. Transport is a go in twenty nikes, get ready."

After that brief exchange, the Agent turned around and walked away, leaving the members of Section twenty-six to gear up and prepare for the mission.

"I have questions," Gahrzvog growled.

"Go ahead," Wallcroft replied as he unfolded the bags and placed the weapons in clear sight. Hudson set up a small, purple light to illuminate their gear for the rest to see.

"There are any words that do not make sense to me. I can adapt when needed…but how do we escape that place once we destroy their weapon?"

"I take it S25 will have something ready for us. Civilian hogs or Hornets."

"And how do we destroy this weapon?"

The ODST grabbed the small package he had received from the Agent and showed it to his new teammates. "This is called C-12. It's a powerful explosive. If we place it at a weak point in the Mantis, there'll be a hell of a fireworks. Brilliant stuff."

"And you know this weak point?" Yaele asked him.

Hudson nodded. "Back on Earth, we destroyed several of the things to punch through the Covenant's defensive line. I'll show you how it's done when the time comes."

"So the Covenant was on Earth, even?" Arya enquired. She had not known that the war had raged on that far.

"Wait, Earth?" Orik huffed. "Is that the name of another planet of yours?"

"Not another planet, _the _planet," Wallcroft calmly collected him. He had taken his helmet off after his sentry-duty and the purple light oddly accentuated his shaven hair and dark stubbles. "Earth is our homeworld. The world where mankind evolved. If our theories are right, humanity here in Alagaesia originated from Earth too."

"Theories? What theories?" Eragon asked.

They did not respond to him. "During the last months of the war, the Covenant found Earth. Punched through our defenses and landed…hundreds of thousands of troops on the surface. Glassed the poles, nearly wrecked an entire continent. They were looking for an artefact, you see? Anyway, I think we'll need to determine the rear guard."

Arya had difficulty processing the sudden change of topic, but Gahrzvog did not. "Your aim is better than ours," the kull growled. "Which weapons do you take?"

"The Sniper Rifle," Wallcroft said as he grabbed the longest weapon. "If you don't mind, I'll leave the close combat to you guys and give you good covering."

"Before we continue, are there more questions?" Hudson proposed. "Speak up if you don't understand."

"Silencers?" Murtagh asked. "What am I supposed to think about?"

The ODST reached for a small, tubular object and showed it to the group. "Guns are loud. We all know that. If we encounter an enemy patrol and we can't move around them, we will have to take them out without their entire army realizing that we are trying to sneak into their camp. There enters the silencer or, as people call it, the suppressor."

"So it makes the sound of the gunshot less loud?" Eragon tried.

"Good enough. It's not perfect and if there's a guy standing right next to you while you fire, they will hear it. But if we time it correctly…"

Yaele reached for the silencer. "We can kill entire groups without them ever hearing us?"

"Ten points. Combined with magic and a marksman, we can tag and kill enemy patrols without getting spotted, just like last time."

"More questions?" Hudson continued.

"Thermal ops?" Raia said with a sarcastic voice. "I can't envision that silencing our weapons."

"Thermal ops are goggles –err…glasses…that show you the enemy's heat-signature. Here, try 'em on." He handed the Shade something that looked like a combination of the silencer and the scope on top of their guns. It did fit around the top of her head, whereupon she slid the item to her eyes. The contraption hid her eyes from view and seemed to place a set of orange shards of glass or crystal in front of them. Did it enhance eyesight?

"What do you see?" Hudson urged her.

Raia hesitated before she answered. "Colours…everything is dark blue…but people are lit up. Red, yellow…some green…"

A device that pointed out where living beings where? How had they ever designed _that_?

"Thermal enhancement means that you can see the heat inside of the bodies of those around you. Up to a range of…guess a hundred feet…it'll show you where living creatures stand or move. Doesn't work on Grunts though."

Raia passed the Thermal ops to Eragon, who tried them on as well. "Why not?"

"Because Grunts don't breathe the same air we do. They carry their own and that air is very, very cold. So instead of appearing like red, or warm, they appear…"

"Blue?" Eragon said as he looked around. "Fire is red…the ground is dark. So cold is dark-blue?"

"Yep. We have five of these things, so I suppose the people who can't see with elf-eyes get one. Murtagh, Orik…sorry 'Vog, your head is too bloated."

Gahrzvog growled with annoyance, but kept his remarks to himself.

"Wallcroft will be sniping, so he needs one too. I'll be the point-man, so I need one too. Raia, you need one?"

The Shade shrugged. "My eyes are not as keen as those of the elves. I shall take it."

"Good."

Arya felt relieved that the two Starborn were taking this seriously. She had feared that they would be blunt or worse, dismissive of their responsibilities. Was that the reason they had been chosen for this group? Because, for all their faults, they were still kind and honest with the rest of the "natives". She could appreciate that.

"Now that's taken care off, here comes the fun part. Weapons."

"I'll have this one," Orik remarked as he hefted his rifle. "What is this crafty device called?"

"The M90 Close Assault Weapon System, but nobody calls it that. It's a Shotgun."

"Shotgun…" The dwarf muttered as he looked his weapon over. "I like it."

"You had the Sniper, Wallcroft?" Hudson asked, picking up the same black rifle as Spartan had always been using.

"Sure. I popped quite a few heads back on the Ark."

"I'll stick with the Assault Rifle then. I'm a big fan of the classics. Now…this leaves us with plenty of choices to make. We can't use Plasma weapons, or the Covvies will know something's up though. Arya, I believe you used the rifle before? Eragon too?"

Arya nodded, while Eragon's reply was more vocal. "Aye. During our escape from the coast and in Du Weldenvarden."

"Good. You two will be using them again during this operation. Murtagh, you too." Hudson glanced at the three remaining individuals who had not been armed yet. "That leaves us with ehm…different weapons. I think that elves and Shades will fare better in close combat than us "mortals", so…"

"The SMG's?" Wallcroft asked, reaching for one of the smaller weapons.

"Yes…yes, I think so. Raia, Daenlith and Yaele…am I pronouncing that right? Alright, I don't think any of you used these things before. Their small, but they have a lot of recoil. Your superior strength should be enough to keep on target though. These ones are outfitted with holographic sight, allowing you to zoom in and out on your target. These things pack a punch, especially up close. Excellent Brute killers; they tear through flesh and bones with ease, but they lack the punch to properly strip their shields with a few bursts. Teamwork is key. Okay, Gahrzvog? Big guy? Your fingers are a bit too…big…to fit on our triggers. We can modify them for your use, or…we could give you something big as well."

The kull growled with satisfaction, but then hesitated. "We must not make noise."

"True. Suppressors won't work on shotties, but I think we've got the right strategy here." He grabbed another one of the M90 weapons and tossed it at the Kull, who easily caught it. "Orik and Gahrzvog can't come with us on our way in. No offense, but a dwarf and a giant can't operate with the proper stealth. You'll be staying on our six and keep it open for our exfil."

That did not pass by well.

"Do you think I will simply sit and twiddle with my beard while you are pushing into the heart of our foe?" Orik exclaimed. "Fools you are!"

The Kull was not satisfied with that either. "I came to fight, Starborn! I will not sit back and wait!"

Wallcroft intervened before there could be more screaming and yelling. "That's the way it goes, lads. Not everybody can see some direct action right off the bat. But as long as you are part of this unit, you will perform your task! The Covenant can't know we're there until their gun is gone and when it blows, we need you to keep our route safe. Now you can either fall in line and shut it, or I'll punt ya' both down the bloody mountain!"

Orik fell quiet, grumbling and reaching for his weapon, but the Kull did not take the threat that well. He advanced on Wallcroft and looked down at him, making use of his massive size in an attempt to intimidate the soldier. " Humans have never ordered me around without my consent! I chose to aid the Varden against the Oath-breaker, but not you!"

Wallcroft seemed about as fazed as a dragon threatened by a sheep. His posture was calm, but his eyes were sharp. "I've been carrying out strikes to the Covenant for a long time. I know what it takes to blow them and I won't let that happen. So either you follow your orders, or you can go live in the sand, down there."

Arya stood, as well as Yaele and Eragon. Even Hudson seemed to stop his thing to look at the conflict, but he didn't look worried. Arya did not know why; if this turned into a conflict, not only would it shatter the trust that they had to have in order to survive, but it would also place Wallcroft's life in great peril.

The Kull stared at the Starborn for a few heartbeats, during which Arya grew increasingly tense, until at last he quietly grunted and looked away.

"I will follow your orders," he growled. "But not using your troops to their potential brings ruin."

The Sergeant did not reply to that. "How much time do we have?"

"Seven minutes."

"Right. Prep your gear, get a feel for it and learn how to reload. Corporal, you can show them that. I'll look for that spook."

Arya watched the Sergeant take his leave with a fluster of mixed emotions. It took her a few moments to realize just what it was that she was feeling though, as everything about this felt rather surreal to her. Working with a Shade and an urgal was not something that she could just do, no matter how useful they were in combat or how good their intentions were. Seeing Raia here, together with Eragon and the UNSC soldiers…it made her feel uneasy. Vulnerable. She constantly had to remind herself that the creature was not Durza, but that was difficult. It was good that Orik and Murtagh were here for Eragon, but they too made her feel on edge.

"Murtagh," Orik loudly proclaimed while Hudson showed Raia and Yaele how to hold and aim their SMG's, "Just how did you escape the grasp of Galbatorix himself? Oaths uttered in the Ancient Language can never be broken. How can I be certain that you will not betray us?"

"Oaths can be broken if you change who you are," Murtagh replied with a low voice. "I think, right now, everybody has a new True Name. You might want to re-swear your oaths."

The insight of Morzan's son was greater than Arya had expected. The nature of the True Name was that it described everything you were at a given moment of time. It is not easily changed, as the behavior and personality of people tended to be written in stone. But she knew that, during her time spent as the Empire's captive, her True Name had forever changed. Who she had been would never return to her, no matter how much time went by. This war took her back to those fleeting moments of apprehension –knowing that everything had changed with no hopes of it ever returning to normal. Supposedly Orik, as most of the dwarves, had aided the civilians in their escape from Aberon. Many had died during aerial attacks and massive projectiles striking them from a distance, but it had not been the front. Murtagh had been fighting on the front lines.

The dwarf lowered his voice as well while giving his reply. "That is no answer to my question."

"I trust him," Eragon said, carefully attaching the silencer to his rifle. "As I trust everyone here."

"Without trust, our enemy has already won," Arya said. "We must overcome our differences if we are to emerge victorious."

"Trust is hard to come by," Orik replied. "Our losses have been tremendous."

"As have everyone's," Eragon then said, taking over from Arya. Talking was more his thing than hers. "These people have been fighting this Covenant for decades now. I did not trust Spartan at first either, and I know he never trusted any one of us, but we fought and we won. So imagine what we can do when we know we can put our lives in each other's hands. This goes farther than Galbatorix and his Empire. We fight for our very planet, not just our freedom. Everybody will have died for nothing if we can't beat the Covenant back!"

"Always such a way with words," Murtagh said as he fiddled with his rifle. "Leave that to the armies, brother. We've got a job to do."

"You guys done arguing there?" Corporal Hudson said, tossing a handful of spherical devices in their direction. Arya instinctively reached out and caught them with magic, stopping them from falling in-between their feet. "Hold on to these, we'll need them to set up traps in case anything goes wrong."

"What are these?" she asked. She would ignore the blunt manner with which the Corporal carried himself.

"Grenades; frags and stickies. Don't worry, their harmless," he quickly added upon seeing her alarmed expression. "Just prime them and throw them at designated targets if we are chased. The Agent's almost ready; transport is a go within the minute. Grab your gear, stash your ammo –no more than four clips a person- and get moving."

Within moments, the members of Section twenty-six gathered their equipment, strapped on their weapons and munition and took to leaving. It turned out that Wallcroft was waiting at the bottom of the cliff, together with two strange-looking vehicles. One of them had a massive weapon mounted on its backside, while the other one had what looked like a cage attached to its back. The armed one looked familiar to her though; had she seen it before?

"Mount up," the Sergeant said, beckoning to the vehicles. "It's a long trip to the forest and the Covenant is bound to gain a level in intelligence and start noticing their disappearing patrols."

"I'll take the transport," Hudson called. "Takes a professional to steer it without going feet-first into hell."

"Only because you're driving it arse about face!"

Arya did not know what these fools were talking about, but moving towards hostile territory in these vehicles looked like an absurd idea to her. These Covenant vessels were like dragons with the most powerful spells cast about them; they would lay waste to entire armies without having to fear retaliation. The powerful weapons of the Starborn humanity were just not strong enough to stand a chance. How were they going to escape if the enemy caught them destroying their installation?

"Let's see…Yaele, you've got the turret. Orik, you're riding shotgun."

The dwarf raised his weapon. "I sure am!"

"Not like that, you bearded pair of…legs. Next to me in the 'Hog!"

"Then why do you not simply say that!" the dwarf exclaimed with indignation. "Cease your confusing slang, you stone-headed fool!"

How mature. While Yaele and Orik mounted the armed vehicle, Hudson directed the rest of the group into the vehicle with the cagelike structure at its rear. It possessed several seats with smooth, leather-like coverings that served as seats. It seemed to provide ample room for the elves and humans, but the Kull had trouble climbing inside.

"Why cannot I simply walk?" he asked.

"Because you'd be left behind. This thing goes faster and farther than any horse."

While the claim was farfetched, Arya did not think it was untrue. After all, if their aerial vessels could outspeed a dragon, why could their land vehicles not outspeed horses?

"So," Hudson asked them as he sat down at the far left of the vehicle, from where he could command it. "Just exactly what did this crazy Galbatorix of you do to become the king of an Empire?"

"The king? He betrayed his order," Eragon replied. "The order of the Dragon Riders. He lost his dragon to an urgal ambush and her death made him mad with grief. Supposedly, he spent weeks wandering the land, challenging death to claim him."

"That doesn't really sound like the psychopath he has been made to be," the Corporal then said. "I thought he was a tyrant?"

"He is! When he finally got the idea that he could ask the Order for another egg, they refused him. They recognized his madness and did not want a part of it."

"Hold on…they did what? They refused a man who had nearly gone mad with grief and loss the only chance to maybe find happiness in his life?"

"It was not like that," Arya firmly replied. "He had become a danger. A mad Rider, roaming the land? Nobody would profit from something like that."

"But…wouldn't it be the choice of the dragon? Present him another egg which, of course, wouldn't pick him if he was as mad as you say…and then go 'sorry dude, bad luck'. Sounds like that would have prevented all of this idiocy."

"You know not what you speak of!" Arya snapped, though doubt took away the strength from her words. "Wise as they were, even the Riders could not have foreseen this tragedy."

"Just saying. Refusing the mentally unstable Rider from trying a one-in-a-million shot at peace seems like a bad idea to me. And I'm not a wise or aged pointy-eared SOB with a superiority complex."

"That is uncalled for," the Shade quietly told him in a voice that was meant to be heard by only the Corporal.

"Uncalled for my ass!" he replied. "This's been bugging me for a while now. If we forget the entire stagnant period under the "good will" of the Riders, we still have many years of the so-called oppression under Galby's rule. Why the hell didn't the elves ever do something?"

"Are you pinning this on us?" Arya demanded with indignation.

"I think so, yeah. Every elf I've ever spoken to is convinced of their superiority over the other races. And with your magic, you could have fought over a dozen battles entirely in your favor."

"I have been fighting this war ever since the usurper killed my father!" Arya yelled at the Starborn, ceased by emotions she had not felt since her first meeting with the Spartan. Feelings of anger and unfairness, like she wasn't properly able to defend her clause.

"You and which other elf? Your kind could have alleviated the suffering or losses of other species, but what did they do? Hide in their forests and hope that the immortal king with a stable economy and powerful military will eventually go away."

"Hey," Eragon snapped. "That's enough. She wasn't involved with those decisions, was she? Or did you forget? She fought her battles and she felt her losses. She has lost more for our war than you have for yours."

"There's not much elf around here I can blame, can I? Believe me, when I meet that queen of yours, I'll be giving her a piece of my thoughts as well."

Arya bristled. How could her kind have foreseen what would happen? Was the blame theirs? Nobody would think of blaming the UNSC of their war, did they? "My mother made bad choices. But there is but one individual to blame for this war and that is the oath-breaker."

"War is never that easy, missy. We've had plenty of wackjobs in our history, but...well I suppose war _can_ be that easy, but not here. Your species has been sitting in their forests with their thumbs up their behinds for too long."

"And they have felt that now?" Arya asked, her voice nearly trembling with anger. Ever since she and her allies had been ambushed by Durza, her capability of emotional control had been wavering. She could no longer properly regulate what she felt and it disturbed her. "Did they get what they deserved?"

"I'm not saying that. Nobody will ever say that. Nobody deserves the Covenant knocking on the door. I'm just asking: why didn't anybody _do _something in this country?"

"It's difficult fighting an immortal man with a dragon the size of a hill," Murtagh said with a snort. "Especially when he has thirteen immortal followers with hill-sized dragons as well."

"And the Varden didn't create itself," Eragon added. "Everybody is doing something. It's just not enough. Did your people all unite when they encountered the Covenant?"

"Of course not. Just because other people are stupid doesn't mean we aren't stupid. The Insurrectionists –an enemy rebel organization that didn't agree with our government…kinda like the Varden, I suppose- saw the arrival of the Covenant as all the more reason to steal from us and stay hidden. The UNSC stupidly kept fighting two fronts at the same time."

"So what business would you have insulting my people when yours display the same self-destructive habits?"

"Because I was born about twenty-six years ago, when the UNSC was already waging war. One mini-Hudson changes jack-shit."

"Who is Jack?" Gahrzvog grumbled.

"It's a saying. One person can't change a thing on his own, no matter how gifted or smart they are. The fact that the Varden chose Eragon as their sole form of hope is a testimony to how stupid they are."

"Yet the oath-breaker did," the Kull then said. "He was one man and he changed history."

"Again, that's not a point in your favor."

This was not going well. They had yet to fully embark on their mission and they were already fighting each other. The Corporal had a point; if they could not fully work together and take action, what use was it to even attempt to fight?

* * *

Living in a society where different races all had humanoid appearances and functions had its ups-and-downs. To Field Agent Undertow, there were only downs. The changes in biology that had most likely been caused by Forerunner intervention instead of normal evolution all served to needlessly complicate his job. But the urgals? They tipped it off. Bloodthirsty morons who _fought _for the right to mate. Those were a specific case of nasty morons, these urgals. In the long, long history of mankind, not one civilization had been able to reach greatness while at the same time founding their believes and cultures on fighting. In the oddball case that one such group of people had managed to bulrush their way through other kingdoms, their reign had been short-lived. A race of creatures that thrived on fighting was a race doomed to extinction.

And a race that was fond of war? A race that he would personally help find said extinction. Whether it was taking S25 and running missions through their hometowns or simply razing them from above by luring the Covenant there, he would find a way to render the urgals harmless.

Not that they were necessarily the most dangerous ones. Each race had a quality that made them a danger to the UNSC-Varden "alliance" that was attempting to resist the Covenant forces. The elves had their magic, but they were limited in numbers. The dwarves were great in number, but their combat prowess was comparable to that of Grunts without plasma weapons. Without air superiority, each and every massive army could easily be destroyed.

Funny how things went. These races, all of whom resembled mankind more than any Covenant race ever would, were both new threats to the UNSC as completely harmless. In total war, they would be utterly destroyed. But in an alliance they posed a much greater threat.

The Agent slowly marched down the path towards the largest part of the Varden camp, where most of their soldiers and civilians had been stationed. He could smell their cooking pots and eccentric manners of making dinner. He could hear their banter and their laughter as they tried to wash away their fears and grief. He had to give it to the natives; even the civvies knew that grief had no place in war. They would function and work and do their thing, but they would do it efficiently and unburdened by their losses.

Until they were alone, upon which they would silently break down. It always went like that.

Undertow wondered how it felt, to grief. To feel such despair and sorrow that it would endanger your health, that it would make working impossible and that it could even cease your sanity. A small part of him wished that he were able to do the same thing.

Silliness.

He approached the nearest sentry and quietly asked him, "Can you tell me where to find the herbalist?"

The man looked at him warily. "The woman with the werecat? Down the road, at the hind part of the camp. Fixing her potions, probably."

"Excellent. Thank you." After that section of forced banter and fake politeness, Undertow continued his journey with a leisurely pace. These people showed qualities that could theoretically impress him. They showed suspicion and wariness towards their saviors instead of blindly following and thanking them like muppets.

Of course they displayed that same suspicion now that he was wandering down their path, visibly armed and suited up. Their purple-ish suits would cause those who had fought the Covenant to look at S25 with more than suspicion though, with good reason. The metal plates of their ODST-based BDU's were derived from Covenant metal, which granted them increased durability for less weight. Still a less effective suit than the MJOLNIR though, but at least they didn't cost a Destroyer's worth of credits.

When Undertow was close enough to the latter section of the camp, he started quietly calling her name. "Herbalist…oh herbalist…come on out."

People who stood in his way quickly made sure that they didn't. Soon enough, one of the tents burst open and a woman with dark hair and exotic make-up rushed out. Her clothes were simple enough, be it that she wore a small cape over her shoulders. It was her face that caught his attention; it was surprisingly different from the rest of the blank rabble around here. He could see wisdom in them, as difficult as it was to define wisdom as something visible. It stood apart from the wariness and tension in her body.

Not that it _mattered,_ but still. It was something.

"Herbalist," he said with mock pleasantry. "There you are."

"Is there something on your mind?" She asked him with a voice that would have almost made him think that she didn't really care for what he thought. "Apart from the secrets that you keep and information about how to turn silly things into weapons."

So this was the witness that he had heard about? More annoying than anything. "If you could come with me, Angela."

She raised an eyebrow, displaying her skepticism towards him. "So you do now my name? So very rude, going around and calling me herbalist, if that is the case. Let me guess, you are Field Agent Reaper?"

Almost. "Night. I need you to come with me."

"Agent Night then. Not very creative with names, are you? Let me humor you then. I'll follow you."

Reaper. Funny. So Specialist Takeo was right; the herbalist had nosed around too much. Her method of breaching security would have to wait.

The two of them marched back up the hill, following the same path that the Agent had taken on his way to find the woman. He had prepared a small patch of rocks and ground just for this occasion, but that would take some maneuvering to get to. Lucky him; the herbalist was more than met the eye. A special case of weird and strange.

Along the way, he spotted something interesting. _Clever woman,_ he thought, but he refrained from commenting on it. Why would he? It wasn't in his interest to do something like that.

She silently followed him about…halfway to the meeting grounds. A shame that she wasn't stupid though. "So where are you taking me? I take it that you are not going to show me an enjoyable sight."

"Depends on your idea of enjoyable."

"Yes yes, everything is subjective. Of course. Or do you plan to recruit me too, just like the others? My skills are not meant for menial duties, you know?"

That remark. Funny. If she had said that any normal soldier, she would have received flak about the whole "we are fighting a war for our survival" thing. He couldn't muster the passion to get worked up about that. "Something like that."

"Ever so informative, you bunch. You remind me of the Spartan. When are you going to reveal that he passed away? Or that you pumped his head full of drugs?"

Was it just him, or was every remark she made aimed at either revealing what she knew or confusing others? Things didn't work like that.

"That's not my paygrade."

"Silly remark, that. How would the amount of money one makes in any way dictate what they can or not say?"

She was giving him a headache. Thankfully they were almost where they needed to be. The mountainous path was difficult to scale, but not impossible. Undertow experienced little problems with making his way up the path, avoiding the loose rocks and finding the proper holds. Angela did not fare that well; her clothes made climbing tedious and dangerous and more often than not, she slipped or pulled free a rock that was not meant to be pulled on. She did manage to keep up with him, strangely enough. That made his job much easier.

The Agent was the first to reach the top of the path, which had led them far away from prying eyes. It was a reclusive patch of dirt and rocks, flanked by large walls of rocks and stones. A perfect place for a civilized conversation.

He walked to the opposite end of the clearing, from where he had a good view on the desert. The files were clear on how to approach this. The herbalist had even said it herself; she wanted to be there where important things happened. That made her a disaster tourist, wandering around without a purpose in life.

Angela reached the top next. She still had her sword-staff with her. "An interesting place for a meeting."

_Sure_. He placed his combat knife on the ground and wandered over the left wall, casually observing the patterns of the rock that he had created himself beforehand. "An interesting sight."

She did not assume that he was talking about the symbols in the wall. Instead she marched straight over towards the little lookout at the far end, where he had placed his knife. "Do you have a reason to drop off your weapon like that? A symbolic gesture in your people, perhaps?"

"I always like watching the desert. There's interesting stuff to the keen observer."

She turned her back to him and started observing the view as well, no doubt trying to figure out what he meant. "Is that so?" She said. Her fingers never loosened their grip on her weapon.

"Yes." He reached for his M6D sidearm, which had been modified to carry an effective silencer. "It is."

The herbalist moved at the moment he aligned the barrel with her head. She spun around and twisted her staff to block his shot, but the first bullet was still much faster than she could respond. Instead of nailing her head, it found its mark in her shoulder.

Impressive speed.

The distance between the two of them was closed rapidly as Angela lunged for him, likely accelerating her movement speed with magic. Her sword-staff flashed through the air and Undertow blocked the first strike by swiping his pistol at it, momentarily diverting its momentum.

Time slowed down and colors became blurry. His heartrate increased, his thought-processes accelerated. Her attacks were faster and more jarring than he had expected and he was forced to pull out his other combat knife to even the odds. Using both his pistol as his blade to defend himself, Agent Undertow knew that he wasn't going to be fighting much longer if she resorted to magic. He could already feel what had to be brushes of mental contact creeping in on his spine, not powerful enough to gain entrance.

He kicked at her midriff, knocking her off-balance before he spotted movement from the corners of his eye. Something jumped at him and he pivoted around on his right foot, slamming his knife all the way up to the hilt into the furry body of an oversized cat.

_Werecat_. The impact rattled his arm, but in no way did it distract him from the fight, which couldn't be said for Angela. The furry body rolled to a standstill across the rocks and she made the mistake of flashing a worried look at its fallen frame, just a split-second.

Of course, perception of spit-seconds varied per individual. Undertow gripped her staff with both hands and, with a single kick of his fortified boot, snapped it into two pieces. He then took a step closer to her and slammed his fist against the underside of her chest, followed up by a strike against her unprotected stomach.

Something cracked underneath his fist and she staggered backwards, dropping the ruined remains of her staff. She reached for her chest and opened her mouth for a spell, but he did not allow that.

Another step, bringing him close again. He could see in her facial expressions that she had not expected _this_. The fight, perhaps. Being outclassed? No, she had always thought that the Starborn were more appearance and talk than action. She had not witnessed their actions, seen their deeds. They did not know how far they would go to keep the peace.

The herbalist opened her mouth to speak a spell, but the S25 member did not let her. Martial Arts had different approaches to engaging stunned enemies, be they hit with a punch to the organs or a strike that left them winded. He preferred using the more aggressive approaches. As such, he did not step back to guard himself, but instead kept on the offensive. Any form of magic would end his life and they already had an extensive dossier on Angela's form of magic. He would not allow her to speak.

He struck her throat with two sharp jabs, crushing her larynx. Her legs gave in from the shock of the impact and she collapsed, sinking through her knees.

Undertow raised his pistol again and allowed her head to rest against its barrel. Her eyes were wide with shock and pain and blood leaked from the corner of her mouth. Taking out a human this close and personal was somewhat new to him; he hadn't done it since months. It ought to do _something _to him.

He pulled the trigger and the herbalist fell backwards from the blow, a thin trail of blood leaking from the hole in her head. To be sure, the Agent shot her two more times, once in her chest to betray breathing and once in the stomach, to reveal a reaction to extreme pain.

Both of them were negatives.

Undertow went to verify the death of the werecat that had been tracking him since he had picked Angela up, but its body was gone. Blood trails on the rocks indicted that it had dragged itself towards the left, where a small indent in the wall could allow for a creature the size of a small dog to escape.

What a drag. He hurried towards the wall and kicked off against the ground, propelling himself several feet high against the wall. Then, using several small cracks and protruding rocks as holds, he launched himself up over the edge and scanned the rocky environment. He caught a bloody trail and more movement down the landscape.

A cat trying to run a way, a few dozen meters away. Wounded from the knife, it wasn't going anywhere.

Still holding on to the edge, Agent Undertow took aim and squeezed off another two shots. One punched through the werecat's spine and the other one blew its head open. Even though non-collateral headshots on human were definitely possible with such a large caliber, the skull of a cat wasn't. Even from that distance he could see that he had blown a fist-sized holed in the back of the creature's head before its limp body crashed against the ground.

Silence reigned after those shots. Then, the Agent established a private communication link with Specialist Takeo, who had discovered the leak. "This is S25 Agent Undertow. I uh…plugged the hole."

"_Good job Agent,"_ the specialist said. His accent was very noticeable, but his gravelly voice made up for that in an odd way. "_We will take steps to prevent future incidents. Dispose of the bodies –an alibi has been forged in the case they ask questions about having last seen her with you."_

"What alibi, sir?"

"_Brute Stalkers in active camo were engaged and subsequently killed in a brief firefight, during which an unlucky shot hit and detonated a belt of plasma grenades. The herbalist Angela was vaporized by the blast."_

Because she had been fighting in close combat. A noble death then. "And the werecat?"

"_He disappeared following the fight, or he died as well. That's how werecats are; always a mystery."_

"And the noise of the plasma explosions?"

"_Taken care off."_

A few seconds later, several explosions rippled through the silent air, their echoes coming from all directions through the mountains. Impossible to determine the origin of the explosions, too. Another neutralized Covenant patrol then.

"_Spare plasma grenades. Soldiers are being told that another patrol has been destroyed."_

That was the price of secrecy. Due to her nosy nature and strange ways of procuring information, Angela had gotten access to some information that she should not have gotten and now she had paid the price. If the UNSC found out about what they did to their own soldiers, people would revolt. They didn't want that.

Undertow confirmed that last order and devised a plan of action. He had to get rid of the bodies before anyone else showed up and had to be disappeared as well, but the UNSC was a bit lacking in proper burial kits.

The desert could swallow anything within an hour. The weight of the herbalist and the werecat were nothing to him and he carried them towards the edge, where he hesitated.

Should he clean the bloodstains first? Perhaps later.

He wanted to question why they hadn't sent Reaper to deal with these sorts of things, but he knew better. Making dead things disappear wasn't the same thing as disappearing among dead things and of the entirety of S25, it was most likely Agent Undertow who was the most reliable killer. Him, working at his best when he was off assassinating things. Wetworks had become his thing, sort of.

There was always someone who found out more than they were allowed to and there would always be secrets that could not be risked. The Field Agent threw the bodies over the edge, whereupon he climbed down after them. More work to do. After this, there was a certain pointy-eared individual he needed to visit.


	39. Our turn to rise

"_Agent Undertow?"_

"_That one is simple. He's a clinical sociopath, incapable of feeling empathy in any form."_

"_So he's like a Spartan?"_

"_No. Spartans, however rare, can form strong attachments to individuals outside of their team. They can look up to someone and they can mourn losses. Undertow just…does his thing. S-25's assassin, bound only by the little sense of loyalty that God seems to have given him just to make him wonder why he does his things."_

"_So will be he loyal to the Captain?"_

"_Don't worry about that. He's Parangosky's man through and through."_

* * *

"Stand fast!" The officer screamed at the hundreds of archers that stood atop the walls of the mighty city of Uru'baen. "They cannot best us all!"

On the other side of the massive walls of the Empire's capital city, no more than a few hundred meters away, a large Covenant contingent was approaching the city. In the dark cover of the night, the various races of the alien invaders were clearly visible to the human defenders. The scarred Brute Chieftain, Cericulus, had sent his air-support away for this battle. His intent was to destroy this city without sacrificing the precious vehicles doing so. His hated enemy was still out there, hiding somewhere where the mighty pack could not find them yet. The key to his problem, the Chieftain had long ago concluded, lay in crushing this land's resistance and utilizing the abilities that they had created for themselves.

In his army he had four Type-26 Gun Carriages, eight Type-32 and three Type-25 Rapid Assault Vehicles. They were the foundation of his attack and on them he would count to destroy this prestigious capital city.

"_Onward troops," _he growled. "_Kill the humans! Find the empowered ones and you may feast tonight!"_

They all obeyed his orders. Chieftain Cericulus, who had been leading this pack for years now, commanded much respect and awe among his followers. Even now that he had accumulated multiple scars during the ambush in the coastal city, they continued to follow him. It was a strong pack.

The four Wraith tanks unleashed their primary weapons, the Heavy Plasma Mortars. Four spheres of superheated plasma were created, compressed and subsequently fired at high velocity by the fixed plasma emitters. The result was four bolts, captured in magnetic bubbles, arcing over the horizon and speeding towards Uru'baen's sturdy walls with deceiving speed. Soon gravity grabbed a hold of the projectiles and they sped towards the ground, each one of them hitting their mark in the giant city of Galbatorix's fortress.

Their magnetic fields collapsed and the gathered spheres of plasma expanded in all directions within a microsecond, creating brilliant explosions with results that were equally beautiful as horrifying in nature.

The first mortar impacted on the right section of Uru'baen's wall, vaporizing a twenty-meter section of the thick, elven-built structure within seconds. Stones crumbled by the dozens, soldiers fell from the top of the wall and an entire section collapsed completely. The second mortar impacted deeper into the city, managing to arc over the gates of the outer wall and annihilating several buildings at once. Inside of those buildings, civilians who were hiding in the night, away from the army, were instantly vaporized by the blast. They simply ceased to exist as their bodies were caught in the detonation, obliterated by the overwhelming wave of intense heat. Even the soldiers stationed in the roads beside the houses were not safe from the blast; as the houses were destroyed by the initial blast, the soldiers were caught in a wave of thermal expansion, melting their armour and skin and shattering their bones. Those who had their internal organs pulverized by the sheer force of the waves were the lucky ones, as they died instantly.

The third and fourth mortars achieved similar results in the city, claiming dozens of lives with just the opening salvo. After that, Jackel Snipers took over, picking off the human defenders off the walls without mercy and without difficulty. While the many Spiker rounds and plasma bolts impacted relatively harmlessly on the walls, the Jackels did not miss.

One of the Imperial swordsmen dove out of the way as his comrade sank through his knees with a smoking hole in his head.

"Andross!" The swordsman cried, kneeling next to the fallen soldier. "Andross?"

There was no reply. His friend was not alive.

The swordsman cursed and kept his head low. More soldiers fell around him as nigh-invisible projectiles slowly wiped out his entire unit. His friends were dying, the walls were being destroyed and his beliefs were falling faster than Uru'baen was. He realized that they could not hold this positon and turned to one of the few bowmen who were still alive. "We cannot stay here, we need to pull back deeper into the city!"

The soldier took a few deep breaths, flinched when something near them exploded and then nodded. "A-aye. How do we get down?"

Taking a closer look at the ruined gates of Uru'baen, the Swordsman saw that the stairs leading up to the upper segment of the walls had been obliterated. They were trapped. "Where is our magician?"

"He…he fell. When those…those blasted things attacked with fire he just…he lost his footing and fell, right where I could see him."

"Hells!" To the swordsman, there was only one option left. "We are escaping from this death trap. Follow me!"

"Lord Barst will have our heads if we abandon our posts!"

"I will deal with him, if we survive this."

Before the human could say anything else, another plasma mortar impacted on the wall and blew it to oblivion. He, along with dozens of other men who had attempted to hold their positions, lost his footing and fell.

And along with them did the wall. The imposing gates that had kept Uru'baen safe for so many years, built by the elven architects of the Dragon Riders of old, succumbed to the opening barrage of the Covenant army.

"_Take them!" _Chieftain Cericulus barked. "_Find the empowered ones!"_

The pack approached the vulnerable city as a stable unit instead of rushing to find its prey; the Jackels and Brutes continued to pick off the few archers and crossbowmen who were still standing, while a pair of Hunters slowly lumbered towards the crashed gate, the occasional arrow shattering against their impervious armor. The series of spines on their back rose up and they prepared for another clash with the human defenders.

The Imperial swordsman slowly crawled back to his feet, clutching his aching chest. His armor seemed to have protected him against the worst of the fall, but he knew that he could not stand a chance in close combat against these monsters. His unit had fallen apart and he had no idea where the closest regrouping position was.

He was about to turn his back to the ruined pile of rubble that the wall had become, when he noticed the monsters. Not the monsters that had been murdering his companions with their invisible spells and fire, or the ones that had ruined the sturdiest walls in Alagaesia with a few bolts of fire. No, these two ones were different. They were massive, larger than Kull and more intimidating. So much more. Their bodies, while roughly human-like, were covered with thick plates of blue metal. The chest, the legs and arms, even the head, where four slits were visible. Four! Did these things have four eyes?

They were both armed with the same weapons. A massive, grey shield on their left arms and what looked like a green-grey tube with green studs protruding from the sides on the right. Their backs were covered with a series of long, blue spikes that appeared solid metal, yet still flexible

These metal things were alive. What were they?

The swordsman got his answer when one of the creatures raised its arm and a glowing sphere of burning light exploded from the tube. The green, short-sword-sized bolt impossible traveled with an arc and impacted on a piece of rubble where a group of archers had been attempting to regroup. The following explosion left behind only a ragged scream as the handful of survivors were obliterated by the single shot.

"Heavens," the swordsman whispered.

One of the beasts uttered a low, rumbling moan that could only be interpreted as laughter.

That was it. The swordsman scooped up a discarded sword from the ground and ran for it. If these things managed to get deeper into the city, where the civilians were seeking refuge…it would a bloodbath. Where was the King? Where was Galbatorix with his dragon and his magic! If he was so powerful, why had he not vanquished this enemy yet?

The human knew that it was no use worrying. He pressed on deeper into the city and so did the enemy. He had to find the tower and warn the king; get him to join the fight.

But that was easier said than done. Almost immediately after having fled the walls, he ran into another enemy. One of the huge knights, standing with its back to the soldier.

Too bad for it. The Imperial swordsman did not know where this monster had come from, but he would send it back in pieces. He whipped his sword through the air and stabbed at his foe's back, where a normal human heart would be located.

The impact on the creature's blue armor jarred his arms and nearly made him loose his footing; the backstab had left the monster with not a single scratch on its shimmering armor. What was more, when it turned around to face the one who had attacked him, the creature appeared more angry than shocked. In its hand it held one of the most crude, cruel devices ever seen. It held a weapon that looked like someone had taken a crossbow, cut off the sides and attached two heavy blades on it.

Roaring, the creature took a wild swing at the human soldier, who dodged the attack and hastily circled around the heavily armored monster. The Imperial swordsman then shouted and swung his blade at the massive creature that stood in front of him, with all strength and fierceness of a warrior who had seen his fair share of fights. He had caught his foe unaware, having dodged the first vicious blow from the strange, double-bladed knife and moving on the offense. But instead of renting the creature's stomach plates apart, the swordsman's blade was reflected off of a shimmery shield of some form, making his attack useless.

The monstrosity chuckled deeply and slapped the soldier with the back of his hand. Such an easy, near contemptuous gesture. It sent the swordsman sprawling to the ground, his helmet forced awry by the sheer force of the blow. His sword, now as useless as the burning wood around him, clattered to the ground as well. The blade seemed dull and small now.

Groaning and clutching his hurting chest, the swordsman climbed back to his feet. He watched a group of archers fire off a flock of arrows against an unseen enemy. They were slaughtered in return when what looked like a salvo of thick, black arrows impacted on their bodies, sinking deep into their bodies as if they were naked and their armor did not exist. Their bodies fell to the ground, but nobody noticed. Everybody fought on their own.

He cursed loudly and staggered backwards when his own foe came upon him. The monster was enormous; as large as a Kull and even more heavily built. Its armour was like the scales of a dragon, its eyes were filled with hatred and cruel malice and its limbs were thicker than logs of wood.

Without his sword and without comrades, how could he be expected to kill this beast? It was impossible!

There was only one thing he could do. As much as it hurt his honor, he needed to retreat and gather the men. The complete city was on fire; Uru'baen had fallen. The mighty imperial army was being slaughtered and there was nothing he could do about it.

The swordsman turned around and ran, unarmed and alone. To him, living to fight another day had nothing to do with cowardice. Staying and dying seemed like a foolish plan.

Along the way, he encountered many atrocities. The invaders had pushed deep into the city –too deeply. He saw a clutter of creatures with orange humps on their back and metal masks on their faces get stormed by a phalanx of spearmen, who screamed bravely as they charged. There was no armor or magic field to stop the sharp spear-heads; they ripped into the bodies of the invaders and shed their blood on the soil of Uru'baen. Sticky, blue blood that glowed eerily.

But it was a small victory…and a short-lived one at that. While the small creatures fell, returned fire or retreated, a larger creature flanked the group of soldiers from the side. Gold armor, a massive weapon with a large, curved blade attached to it and a series of rapid explosions that seemed to detonate the very air around the battlefield.

The Imperial swordsman fell to the ground for what felt like the tenth time that day and his vision blacked out for a few moments. Screams, a terrible ripping-sound and high-pitched laughter.

So much carnage. Blue and red blood met in the middle of the small clearing and several mangled, broken bodies lay scattered across the ground. Loose limbs, blown-free entrails…bones…chips of metal and leather…

The soldier felt the content of his stomach curl and rise up, and he backed off from the fight to conceal himself as he retched. He had seen many horrors on the battlefield. He had seen men, women and children torn apart by urgals and dragons, atrocities committed by the Varden terrorists and civilians tortured and raped.

This? This was sick. This wasn't warfare; this was slaughter.

The king _had _to stop this. He just had to.

* * *

It was during the dark moments like the one during this evening that the Grunt named Wadab felt at his most vulnerable. Days where the bad things came from hiding, filled with hate and ready to eat him. It was also on dark moments like this cold evening that he took the most comfort from the Plasma Pistols strapped to his side, fully charged up and ready to melt the faces of whatever bad things would come from hiding. The Sangheili kindly allowed him and his brethren to carry more weaponry than ever before, before the Great Schism.

Ah…the Schism. Wadab did not remember it fondly. It was a bloody, nasty event with many deaths to many Unggoy. But after the Schism…things changed. Changed for the better, he might say. The Unggoy that sided with the Sangheili after the broody aliens fought their civil war with the Jiralhanae knew prosperity and respect. Methane and food nipple without having to fight for it. The Unggoy who fought with the Sangheili knew proper unity.

And as an Unggoy, Wadab had been serving his Sangheili superiors for some years now. He didn't remember how much, but it was a big number. Big enough to allow him the honorable veteran harness, which was much better than the original orange and red ones. Plus, in this dark cave, few bad things would see him. If only the stupid Sangheili hadn't outfitted harness with bright lights.

Special Operations Officer, Osna Ranamai, came arrogantly striding into the dark cave that he had been commanding his troops to for a while. He was not as bad as the others, but his ego always preceded him. It was a Sangheili thing; honour and glory and blood! But Wadab didn't mind. He was there to keep comrades as alive as was possible.

He took a quivering breath and watched as more members of the team entered the cave. There was pride in his limbs; he had been among the first, even among the Unggoy. He took job serious.

"Brothers," Osna Ranamai addressed the gathered warriors, making Wadab feel even more pride, "I have grave news. The wretched Jiralhanae are in control of much of this land's cities and resources. The human population is being slaughtered and the _Prideful Justice _has been spotted. The Light Construct took control of our systems and revealed its position!"

Another shuddering breath, but nobody heard. The ruckus in response to the Construct's treachery was great and very loud; Unggoys squealed as their emotions got the better of them, Sangheili growled and rumbled and the Officer had to call for immediate silence.

"There is more," he said. "We are not certain if it was the Shadow or the Light Construct that sent the signal, but our Ossoona has discovered why the Shadow Construct responded with such aggression."

That sentence did not make a lot of sense to Wadab. He struggled to remember what an Ossoona was, before realizing that it meant the Eye of the Prophets. Well, not anymore. Prophets bad. Still, Ossoona meant spy. But the Shadow Construct and aggression? That did not work well in Wadab's head.

"Brothers," Osna Ranamai continued, "the Parasite is on this world!"

The ruckus from before was nothing compared to this new one. Sangheili shouted and swore oaths, prayers were uttered and one Unggoy grew so panicky that Wadab had to smack him, before nasty fluids could come free.

"You calm!" Wadab snapped at his scared comrade. "We must think!"

"We must call in our support," another Sangheili said. "And cleanse this world!"

The Officer gestured wildly with arm. "We cannot cleanse this world, we swore an oath! We would set right our past crimes and aid the humankind. These subspecies, though inferior, are still under our protection."

"Leader, we cannot let even a single spore survive! If we do not cleanse this world, the Parasite-"

"It is contained!" Osnai'Ranamai interrupted his comrade. "In an underground facility of the Ancients. The Ossoona returned safely, but he discovered more treachery. The Jiralhanae know not of the Parasite, but their ignorance may be our undoing. The Shadow Construct will not let us leave. It needs this world to remain shrouded in mystery. It has cut off our ransmissions!"

Wadab grunted in annoyance. If they could not ask for friends, how would they cleanse the Parasite? Stupid Construct!

"Leader, has the spy located where the Construct resides?"

Osna Ranamai growled. "Alas, he was unsuccessful. He will soon rejoin us however, so we may strike our foe once more."

That was good! Strike the foe was very good! Wadab loathed the Jiralhanae or, as the humans so fittingly called them, the Brutes. He would rather serve the rest of his life with the arrogant Sangheili than spent one day with such a furry monster and every sensible Unggoy would think the same. The Brutes had committed vile crimes for which they needed to be burned with lots of hot Plasma.

"The humans have discovered another Jiralhanae-led patrol coming at our very direction. We smother it and continue on our mission."

Some Sangheili rumbled in agreement and the present Unggoy nervously chuckled. Even Wadab, who did not like acting like a foolish Unggoy, could not stop himself from giggling. Shooting Brute time was good time.

Their collective cloaking units could hide them all for some time, but not the mighty Hunters. The lumbering titans needed another way to hide them from view and the Separatists did not have that way. Wadab knew what tactic had to be used, but he still allowed the Sangheili to come up with their own ideas. They were arrogant, but they also had big brains.

Leader took them back down and marched them towards the position where the big furry group would soon arrive.

"We shall allow them access through this valley," Osna Ranamai spoke, pointing at a shiny and shimmering map that arose from a small ball. "The Hunters will strike them from the flanks and we will strike them from the front." He then turned to one of the other Sangheili, who was carrying a powerful Beam Rifle. "Keep your rifle handy, marksman. We cannot afford losses. Focus on those who claim a good position."

The marksman nodded silently, popping the battery of his weapon to check his ammo.

Wadab snorted and followed his group down the rocky slope. The Hunter pair was waiting for them down below in all their might and bulky glory. Their Assault Cannons glowed ominously in the night, but the Brutes would be focused on what was in front of them. It was not in the nature of the big Hunters to wait, or fight from the flanks, but when the order came from a respected swordsman like Osna Ranamai? Of course they would obey.

The party dug in in-between the rocks and took their positions. Wadab enjoyed watching the massive Hunters navigate their way up the rocks; their balance was good, their moves were controlled. Less jerky than Unggoy, but slower than nasty Kig-Yar. They were weird though; they liked to make poetry and other forms of art, often during the battle. Some Unggoy whispered that Hunters were walking groups of worms, but he was not so sure. It just sounded like foolish Unggoy chatter to him.

When the big ones were in position, the waiting started. Waiting was good; it gave Wadab the chance to think and ponder and other things. He checked Plasma Pistols, made sure that Grenades were good and then sat back and reminded himself of the days before the Covenant had taken him from his nest. The cold, dangerous hole that his homeworld had been. Many Unggoy had fallen to the cold, but family had been strong. So the Covenant had taken most of them when they were young, giving them the harness and if they were lucky, some training. Thankfully he was born after the fated Unggoy Rebellion, which had granted his kind the right to actually carry guns in a fight.

Still, most of his nest was gone now. So many of his kind had fallen in the war that there was a good chance that his entire family had been killed. There was no life for him outside of service; homeworld was cold and bad, family was gone. Fighting with Sangheili was all he had left.

A good, big distraction came to pull Wadab away from his troubled thoughts. The smelly Brutes had arrived and it was a big group too. Humans would waste much ammo to kill them all, but the Sangheili were prepared.

Lots of firepower. Their big, noisy vehicles would not protect them. Many Unggoy though…unfortunate. Lots of younger Brutes. More fortunate.

The invisible camouflage that Wadab knew had been activated would keep the company protected from filthy Kig-Yar with good eyes. It always felt strange, as one of the other Unggoy soon experienced.

"Where did gun go?" he asked. "Wait!"

One of the other Unggoy slapped the confused one before he could giggle and Leader soon gave the order to attack. "Burn them," he growled. The communication net carried the order over to the distant Hunters, who rumbled with what had to be their silly form of delight, before opening fire on the completely unaware convoy.

The powerful bolts of plasma impacted on the two lead vehicles, which exploded into rays of glorious heat and fire, taking their drivers along with them. Nearby Unggoy screamed and randomly started shooting at everything that they thought could move, while their Brute handlers roared orders and attempted to motivate their group in their own special way.

More shots were fired.

Wadab chuckled in happiness as he dumped plasma into one of his Pistols, overcharging it until the handle grew hot. He then let the bolt fly, which flew straight and true and impacted on the chest of one of the ugly Brutes, burning its armour off within seconds.

A smart Sangheili then took several shots with a large Carbine, killing the stripped Brute with accurate fire.

A few moments after the attack, the Hunter pair attacked again, blasting two more vehicles to pieces. The green blobs of plasma were devastating to everything that attempted to stand in their way and the tough, spiky one-seat vehicles were no exception. Wadab had seen Hunters blow holes through big tanks and even dropships with single shots, burning through many layers of plating with ease. And these did not even carry their other Assault Cannons yet. Big, burning beams of burning and explosive Plasma…Wadab felt uneasy just thinking about it.

The patrol rushed forwards to escape the ambush, moving straight into Osna Ranamai's field of fire. The Special Operations Officer drew his sword and, together with the other Sangheili, primed Grenades. Wadab took a deep breath and steadied his arms, not willing to waste his grenades yet. Instead he took aim with both of his plasma pistols and sighted in on one of the more jumpy Kig-Yar. It brought its shield up just in time and both of the shots hammered against its shimmery protection, which flared and turned red.

But Wadab was fully capable of shooting again. Which he did. With both Pistols. This time the Kig-Yar shield gave away and the last shot washed over its chest, boiling its armour and burning into its chest.

Another shot to the face finished it off. Good riddance; Wadab hated the Kig-Yar even more than the Brutes. The rivalry that their species felt towards each other rivalled that of the Brutes and the Sangheili in the prime of the Great Schism, though the false Prophets had often kept a lid on it. But the latest great conflict between the Kig-Yar and the Unggoy had let to the Unggoy rebellions, so that was a positive thing.

One of the Brutes fell to the ground with a fresh new hole in its ugly face, falling victim to the great Marksman. Sangheili had better aim than Unggoy when it came to long distance.

But not short distance. Wadab opened fire again and, with pain in heart, cut down two other Unggoy. He hoped that they would go to a methane-filled paradise, where they would never again have to feel the cold bite of their homeworld. Was death cold? Or had they felt one final burst of warmth before their spirits left?

Lingering on those thoughts was bad. It distracted him in the fight. Bad stuff.

The Brutes fell on their position, bayonets and spikes at the ready, but the Sangheili had their own weapons to protect them. The holy blades, wielded only by the most powerful of warriors. Even the skeptical Wadab had to respect the glorious heat and light that the blades emitted as they were used to carve into the pack.

Osna Ranamai spearheaded the attack, dashing forwards with his Energy Sword and illuminating the dark and fearful night. He would teach the hairy monsters to fear the bite of the Sangheili.

The Hunters came rushing down the slopes of the mountain, smashing through the few remaining vehicles that attempted to stop them. Their massive, starship-built shields carved through the thick engines and mechanics of the Brute vehicles like they were weren't there and within seconds, the Brute patrol was caught between two mean attacks.

And Wadab watched as one of the Brutes tried to stop a mighty Hunter on his own. He punched the big walking mystery against the head, again and again, to no avail. The Hunter retaliated and swung its shield at the offender's chest, sending him flying. It then smashed two Unggoy that had been standing too close and blew a hole the size of Osna Ranamai's ego through the chest of a Kig-Yar.

Knowing how dangerous Brutes were in close combat, Leader had taught the Hunters how to fight good. While any Sangheili attempting to teach the Hunters how to fight would have been a grave insult to them, Osna Ranamai was respected well enough to do so and walk away unharmed.

Plasma Grenades detonated and vaporized Kig-Yar and Brutes alike, bolts of superheated plasma cut down charging Unggoy who attempted to blow themselves up in one last act of glorious devotion and Hunters smashed through resisting Brutes with their heavy shields.

Osna Ranamai clashed with a Brute in golden armour while several others of the pack attempted to interfere. Not willing to risk such close shots, the other Sangheili allowed the foolish Brutes to get cut down by the mighty Officer. One of them took a Marksman shot to the face and fell down, clutching what was left of it.

Leader beheaded the golden Brute with a wide swing, dodged enemy fire and stabbed a younger Brute through the chest. He pulled his blade back, kicked the body away and cut off the arm of the last standing Brute. Then, the Sangheili grabbed his last prey by the neck, hauled him upright and stabbed him full in the furry gut, making the Energy Sword come out the other side.

And Wadab cheered. Even though the Sangheili were arrogant and had stupid customs, he still liked them better than the other races. And he had fought too long next to Osna Ranamai to wish him any harm. It was a mutual respect and Wadab was content with it.

The last Brute fell dead to the ground and the Sangheili roared their victory to the nightly sky. There had been no deaths thankfully; just a few wounded Unggoy and two Sangheili whom had shed their blood. But Wadab knew that there was no creature more dangerous than a bleeding Sangheili veteran with a holy blade. Apart from berserking Brutes and Hunters whose bond-brothers had been killed.

He supposed that there were, in fact, more dangerous creatures than bleeding Sangheili officers. Apart from the former Covenant races, there were Demons. And this planet still had one Demon on it. Wadab had dealt with berserking Brutes, furious Kig-Yar and even the Parasite back on the divine Halo, but a Demon on this planet was a planet too close for him.

"The wretched Chieftain was not among them!" Osna Ranamai growled as he put blade away.

"He must still be preoccupied with the humans," one of the officers replied, holding a bloody Plasma Rifle loosely in his long fingers. "We should find him and burn his worthless hide!"

"Patience, brother," another Sangheili calmly said. "Another fight, another day."

Their team regrouped and returned to their camp, close by the human entrenchments. They were supposed to stay there for a few hours of rest, before perhaps going on another operation. But there was something that Wadab wanted to see. He had spent much years fighting against the humans during the war and, odd as they were, they were just so interesting. Like other Unggoy he would pick up thrown-away items that nobody would miss, like broken pieces of weapons or even things that had not belonged to their warriors, but not to trade. He wanted to learn. Understand his foe at the time.

And now, with all these new human species, he could do so much learning!

Osna Ranamai saw him wander off, but didn't stop him. Good. Sangheili knew that understanding was important. They would not survive this fight using brute force. No, being smart would win.

And Wadab liked being smart. It was what had him promoted to this Spec-Ops unit. Dangerous and nasty work, but worth it. The galaxy was big and full of nasty things in the darkness. Maybe, just maybe, he could do some good.

Wadab wandered towards the human sentry positions, where he proceeded to give the hidden humans the signal that he was not bad. They let him through, but he knew that they were suspicious. Very suspicious. They were right; he had killed humans during the war, just as these humans had killed Unggoy during the war.

Live and let live. If he continued to hate humans, they would hate him in return. Everybody would hate. He did not want that.

More human species were working in the camp. Strange ones with nasty fur that grew from the underside of their face. They were small though, small like Wadab. And they looked angry. He left them alone; they were too weird.

Not as weird as the larger human species though; they had grey skin like Brutes and had large horns. They reminded him of most Brutes, but they were naked. Wadab left them alone as well. Too weird and too nasty-looking.

How many species did humans have? Why had he never seen them during the war? They looked big and strong, so why not fight?

Humans were strange creatures. Very strange. Wadab would never fully understand them. And then there were the _others_. Mysterious, but unnerving. They looked like humans, yet they were not human in form. It was difficult to understand…the creatures with the pointed ears were not human. They felt wrong. Not wrong like Hunter, but wrong like…like Parasite. When they were near, he felt cold. When they looked at him, he felt threatened. He kept hand on Plasma Pistol just in case they used their hidden skills. Wadab had heard stories; stories of powers that should not be real. Powers that used imagination. These pointy-eared nightmares could use those powers.

Pistols would help. Made him feel safe, safe from the enemy and safe from the creatures. And as Wadab wandered through the camp, keeping his eyes close on the pointy-eared creatures, he wondered about the truth behind the rumors. He could visit the creatures, maybe?

Then again, bearded humans looked interesting as well.

* * *

_**UNSC local time 20:36**_

Raia sank through her knees and backed away, seeking refuge behind a particularly large plant. Above, on a ridge to their right, a series of sharp barks and growls could be heard even before the patrol of Covenant soldiers became visible to the eye. Bright illuminated lights, specks of green and purple betraying the position of the group of alien soldiers.

"_Lay low and hold your fire," _the ODST Sergeant Wallcroft whispered to them via their communication devices. "_We don't want to draw their attention."_

She could not see where the human had hidden, but she would trust in his judgement. She did not want to antagonize the aliens when there was no need for it.

The scar on her chest still ached, reminding her of the cost of her failure. Every time she moved, lances of pain shot through her body. Every time she called upon magic, the flows of energy would circle through her chest and grow volatile. Every time she looked at herself, she could see a wound that would never disappear again.

How could it? Her body was static. Ever-regenerating until she was killed, incapable of performing the same feats that normal women could. And with the one part of her body that physically kept her alive damaged as it was now…it was still a wonder that she could keep herself together. Physically and mentally.

"_The enemy is passing by. Recommend you clear out of there before they return."_

Hudson nodded and rose from his cover, giving hand signals to the team. Raia recognized them within seconds; move out and keep together.

Without the dwarf and the urgal there to hold them back or reveal their position, their movements were smooth and controlled. The only ones who incidentally slowed the group down were Eragon, who still had to get used to his new body, and Murtagh. But they were disciplined enough to know when to stay hidden and when to make a run for it.

And the thermal sights helped considerably. Now that she could see where her enemy was, she could think of a dozen ways to lash out. They were not infallible though; the last group must have been larger than the two to three blurs she had seen with them. The sights helped a lot, but she would rather depend on her own eyes than machine contraptions.

The next few dozen meters in the forest were devoid of enemy contact. On occasion the group would hunker down, only for a small animal to jump out or fly away. And on occasion, they would stumble across the smoking, burnt body of a larger animal like a wolf or a deer, seemingly cut down with no reason at all.

Being the thick-headed elf that she was, Yaele would stop at the body and whisper something akin to a prayer.

Raia knew why she did that, but it was foolish nonetheless. Dead animals were the least of their concerns right now; the Covenant had patrols roving around the entirety of the forest, as if they were expecting people to infiltrate. It made their mission many times more difficult.

Corporal Hudson muttered something under his breath and ducked low, gesturing for them to do the same. A heartbeat later, they could hear Wallcroft warning them through the radio device.

"_Incoming Banshees!"_

Cursing both the dwarven as the human gods, Raia quickly pulled out her SMG and held it in both hands. The black weapon was not as large as some of the others and she had not had a chance to use it yet. But if she remembered correctly, it might prove to be useful against the flying monsters.

"_Don't'move,"_ Hudson hastily said. "_If those fliers spot us, we're toast."_

Menacing and pulsating, the purple crafts soared over their heads with a lot less speed than she was used from them. Were they hunting them? Did they somehow know that their position was about to be infiltrated?

"_Steady…steady…"_

The crafts passed overhead and slowly drifted away, before they broke off and went into different directions. Their speed picked up greatly and before soon, they were already gone.

"_Move out."_

Raia could not help but sigh in relief. Those things frightened her, more than she dared to admit to herself. In the years that she had been what she was, she had grown to have grown immune to such human feelings. Alagaesia had taught her pain and hate, but the Covenant had taught her pain and fear. It was not something that she was willing to accept.

With her SMG still firmly in her grasp, she moved along with the group. They had positioned their vehicles at the edge of the forest, hidden in the thick foliage. Back then, she had not considered a stealthy operation like this possible with the wayward group that they had assembled. Thankfully they had left the dwarf and urgal behind, but would those two be competent enough to protect their only way out? The elves had considerable skill in the art of stealth, that was to be admitted, but she had yet to see the skills of the others.

"_Wallcroft here; I'm relocating. You're going to be without sniper support for a few minutes."_

Raia wondered how much that mattered. It wasn't as if the ODST had done anything of use to them except for pointing out the occasional patrol. What good would his presence do them anyway? A remote fighter in the middle of this dark forest could only hit one or two targets during every conflict. If it was up to her, he would have stayed at the front with the rest of them. Or was this a matter about his courage?

Unfortunately, she could not continue that train of thought. Another voice came over the radio, this one belonging to Arya.

"_More soldiers!"_

The Shade cursed and looked around, spotting her allies in their environment. Eragon down their left, Murtagh down their right, Daenlith and Yaele at the front and Arya in the middle, a few meters in front of Hudson.

What was he doing next to her?

"_You know the drill. Use the environment as cover."_

Of course. Raia whispered a few words and a nearby bush shrank back and reformed, allowing her better cover without sacrificing the ability to see the enemy coming. The Starborn had yet to understand the full tactical advantage that users of magic could grant them.

"_Thermals off!"_

The group of Covenant soldiers slowly came within her sight. This one did not look like they could simply sneak around; it was widely spread moving very slowly, as if they were thinking on the ebst position to set down camp. There were lots of the little things, as well as the shield-bearing ones. Two of the big ones thundered through the foliage, clad in shimmering armour that made them resemble the dragons of old.

"_No sneaking past this group," _Hudson whispered. His voice was barely audible over the radio. "_We're gonna have to take them out. Only shoot when you can kill, do it silently. Alright…good luck."_

Raia slowly inhaled and closed her eyes. There was a time for action and a time for waiting. Finally, her time for action had come. They had not robbed her of her will to fight yet.

Barely moving, the Shade peered around the edge of her cover and assessed the group that she would annihilate. She was not close enough to attack them yet, but they would soon come within her range. There had to be one or two whose lives she could claim?

Section twenty-six made its move, but not with suppressed weapons or magic. An elf –Raia could not see who it was in the darkness- burst out from her cover, grabbed one of the small aliens by its back and brutally snapped its neck, before dragging it into the thick foliage to hide it body.

_Impressive,_ Raia thought. She had always assumed the elves considered themselves to be above such forms of violence.

One of the shield-bearing creatures turned its attention to the spot where its comrade had just disappeared, while the rest of the group slowly advanced. A muffled series of thumps sounded from somewhere in the forest and the creature fell to the ground before it could alarm the group.

Two down. A dozen to go.

Not willing to risk being found out now that they were getting this close, Raia reached into her inner reserves of energy and cursed the tall monster that stood the closest to her. Nothing too vexing or obvious, just a spell to destroy its capability of perceiving sound, essentially rendering it completely and utterly deaf.

It was a small demonstration of what she could do with what the elves liked to refer to as 'dark magic'.

A moment later, she spotted the other one and took its hearing away as well. That should give their group an advantage.

The gunfire was not wholly silent, but it was completely invisible. The enemy was too noisy for them to fully hear the fire and those that did, were swiftly taken out as well. Soon, more members of the Covenant started to fall.

When one of the shield-bearing creatures approached her cover, Raia whispered a spell to blind it. Then she burst from her concealment, grabbed it by its bony head and gave a wrench. Its neck snapped with an audible crack and it quickly went limp.

Allowing herself a smile, the Shade laid the corpse to rest on the ground-

-and then all hell broke loose. Weapons were discharged with bright flashes of green and blue, people screamed and monsters roared. Raia cried out when a bolt of magic fire struck a tree near her cover and promptly set it alight, forcing her to relocate. In the midst of the chaos, she heard Hudson shouting, "_We're made, open fire! Open fire!"_

"Hells below," she snapped and aimed her weapon at a nearby alien. A burst of fire and it went down, splashing luminescent, blue blood all over the ground. Her team was incredibly vulnerable to the enemy fire, but as a Shade, she was somewhat immune to it. If only her use of magic wasn't all screwed up…

Shield-bearers stood with their backs exposed to her, small creatures ran around setting fire to the entire site and the large aliens were barking orders, filling the air with superheated spikes.

Her temper flared and she extended her hand, shouting another spell. The flow of magic circulated in her chest and grew in strength, burning and itching like mad. The plants on the ground around her withered and died, before catching fire and burning to ashes.

And the heads of three shield-bearers fell to the ground as her magic severed their necks. Their bones were oddly brittle, easily broken. Those creatures seemed more susceptible to her maiming than the others were and their bodies already slumped to the ground.

An explosion went off and nearly deafened her. Waves of pressure and heat washed over her and she hastily ducked when shrapnel lodged itself inside of the trees around her. She spotted Eragon and Murtagh, fighting back to back as they poured fire into the groups of small aliens. She saw the scarred Daenlith, jumping at one of the tall aliens and savagely hacking away at its throat with a large, black knife that seemed vaguely familiar.

She spotted Hudson ducking low and being swarmed by several of the shield-bearers and smaller aliens, attempting to gun them down with precision fire even as the monsters poured bolt after bolt of magical fire into his direction.

Raia hissed and took several large strides towards the clutter of aliens, raising her weapon and aligning it the backs of those that were getting too close to the human. He was hers, not theirs.

She pulled the trigger and, keeping the firearm as steady as she could, emptied the gun into the unprotected sides and backs of the aliens, shredding through their flesh and feeble layers of protection with a hail of hot metal. Purple and blue blood sprayed from open wounds, soldiers screamed and died and Hudson managed to gain the upper hand in the desperate melee brawl that he had been forced into. He kicked a shimmering shield aside, shattered the jaw of the alien behind it with a snap of his leg and drove his knife deep into the face of one of the hump-backed creatures that was trying to get behind him.

The Shade unleashed another spell, snuffing out the lives of the remaining hostiles that had been swarming her human.

"Wallcroft," Hudson shouted into the radio, "we're compromised! Do you copy?"

There was no reply. Either the ODST had gone dark, or he was gone.

"Wallcroft, do you copy? Wallcroft?"

Raia grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out of the way of an incoming salvo of nails, which punched straight through the trees behind them and left a nasty stench in the air.

The Corporal hurried to shift his aim to the massive alien that had outflanked them, but before he could do more than fire off a few shots, the alien exploded in a flash of blue fire. The explosion was powerful enough to send Hudson sprawling to the ground and set another part of the forest on fire.

"What…what was that?" he coughed and backed away.

"Showoffs," Raia muttered and crossed her arm. It seemed that Arya and Yaele had banded together to weave a rather crafty spell, annihilating the creature together with its shining armour.

Fine. Whatever. She grabbed the human by his neck and lifted him to his feet, while Eragon and Murtagh approached them from the rear. "So what happened to stealth?" she asked.

"Goddamn Grunt stepped on my leg! Its buddies saw me killing it and went wild!"

"We're in trouble," Murtagh called. "What do we do? Pull back?"

"No! We're going to finish our mission! Grab some of those grenades and haul ass to the right! We're flanking their cannon."

That sounded like suicide. Raia liked it, though there was just one thing she was really curious about. "So how do we fight off the entire Covenant army while we're flanking them?"

He grabbed her SMG and pulled a pin, ejecting a small box from the underside. "We're not. Brutes are stupid; they're going to come running now, but they won't find us if we circle around. And you need to reload. Anyone seen Daenlith?"

"Here," Eragon said, raising his hand. The elf stood beside him, taller than he was, with her arms by her sides. Her expression was solemn, but her hands were drenched with dark blood. She had gotten some of it on her face, too.

Her appearance unsettled Raia somewhat. Not counting the scarring and patches of blood, she looked different from the other present elves. Her eyes seemed emptier. Devoid of the life that most elves had in their eyes.

She wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about that. The woman was a friend of Spartan's, but she was also…well, an elf. And she hated elves. Not more than humans or the other races, but still. That counted for something.

"Good. Come on, let's move. They know we're here."

Murtagh chuckled. "Then they must be wetting their alien underwear."

They quickly left the doomed ambush site after that, but the damage had been done. Banshee fliers sailed overhead more frequently and some larger vessels started to fly around as well. More and more patrols showed up and Wallcroft did not reply anymore to Hudson's hails, no matter how much times the naïve soldier tried to get in contact with him.

Raia knew the truth. Everybody knew the truth. Hudson did not want to see it and while she respected his choice on that matter, he was still a soldier. He would have chewed the rest of them out if they had been so naïve in his place.

The group continued towards the position n of the gun, stopping only to evade the closest patrols. While the Covenant had not yet discovered their position, it was only a matter of time.

"We are getting close," Yaele remarked as they approached a clearing in the forest. "Let us hurry."

Close was one way to say it. As they made their way towards the clearing, Raia saw that it was not a clearing at all. It was a space about the size of a large village, where every tree and shrub in the center had been burned, hacked away or otherwise forcibly removed. And in the center of that clearing stood what had to be the largest creation Raia had ever seen in her life. It was a gun the size of a castle, with three long legs that supported it. Its elongated barrel was aimed at the sky and it looked like a small army surrounded the thing. How were they ever going to blow that one?

Wait…the Covenant soldiers were transporting large, purple chests across the battlefield. They were big enough to hide behind and the vehicles…perhaps they could do this.

"Alright team, listen up," Hudson spoke with a hurried tone, gesturing for them to come join him. "We've got some opposition. It doesn't look like they know we're here –these must have been left behind to guard the cannon."

"How much?" Murtagh asked.

"The entire crew of the _Truth and Reconci-_ actually, never mind. A lot. Let me think…"

"They will never expect a strike at the heart of their army," Murtagh said.

"Thinking."

"But they will notice if we all come barreling down the hill," Raia added. "We can't all go."

"More thinking."

"Not all of us have the speed or power to get up near that thing. The Corporal needs to cover us," Arya suggested.

"The most thinking…"

"A small unit to infiltrate the camp then?" Eragon tried.

"Thinking…done. Alright, here is what we will be doing. We ehm…we will create a small unit to strike at the heart of their army, covered by me…consisting of…Arya...Eragon and Raia. Murtagh, Daenlith and Yaele? You stay with me. When that gun goes up, the strike team will haul ass back to us. And we will cover them."

"Good idea," Murtagh sarcastically said. "So original. I like it."

"Great, then you can shut up and grab that gun. Ladies?"

"Hey," Eragon protested.

"Wait for my signal then move like hell. Take the C12-" he handed the pack of explosives over to Raia- "and plant it on the underside of the gun, when the hole opens."

Arya looked at Eragon and then back to Hudson. "What?"

"You'll know when you see."

The Shade sighed and attached the explosive to her belt. This was not her idea of a stealth operation, but it would have to suffice. There was plenty of cover to use between the caches and the vehicles…though she had to be honest with herself; her magic might have to sit this one out. She could not use volatile magic explosions when being unseen was the main objective.

"Can't we turn ourselves invisible?" Murtagh quietly asked Eragon. "Galbatorix once spoke about such magic-"

"Good idea," Raia snapped, her patience running out once more. "Rendering yourself blind is an _excellent _way to remain hidden from the enemy."

"Blind?" Eragon stammered. "What do you-?"

"Let's not put it to the test then," Arya was quick to reply. "Such magic is difficult to cast. Eragon? Are you with us?"

Eragon sighed and wiped his visor with a clean glove. "Sure. Let's do this."

Together with the elf and the Rider, Raia made her way down the sloped clearing and approached the giant installation that was supposed to establish the Covenant's aerial dominance in this position. If they could take it out…they had several dragons they could use. Burn down the forest and gun down any and all alien bastards who managed to escape being roasted.

Of course, it wasn't that simple. And neither was approaching the Covenant base like that; after about two minutes of sneaking through the foliage, hiding behind lumps of trees and evading individual patrols, Hudson started giving them directions.

Which he wasn't very good at.

"_Watch out to your right. The other right! Good. Get down. Not down, I meant to the clearing. Watch out for that Grunt."_

Raia gritted her teeth and grabbed the alien with both her arms, tore its metal mask off its face and kicked its skull in as it fell to the ground. Her aggression seemed to get the better of her much faster these days. It was troublesome.

"_Ehm…nice kill. They didn't spot you. Wait, patrol coming up, Hide!"_

Arya gestured at one of the giant, purple vehicles and the three of them took their refuge behind it. It wasn't that far to the cannon now, but there were so many Covenant around to spot them. This was tricky.

"_Alright, when I give the signal, make a break for that weapon crate to your right."_

"Sure," Eragon replied. He looked around the edge of the cache, slowly reached for his knife and pulled it out. "Arya, enemy."

Raia looked over at the human, wondering what he was going to do.

One of the shield-bearing creatures wandered near the crate, eagerly sniffing the air and holding both his shimmering field of energy as his weapon in front of him. Eragon took a hold of his weapon-arm and yanked the creature off its feet, burying his knife deep into its throat. Arya immediately jumped in and pulled the limb body out of sight, spilling its dark blood all over the place.

"It's got purple blood," Eragon whispered, sounding damn near fascinated by the thing. "What makes it purple?"

"Not now, Eragon," Arya replied, sounding damn near endeared by the human. "Later."

"_Clean kill. Move."_

At Hudson's signal, the three of them moved away from the large vehicle and sprinted towards the supposed weapon crate. During the brief dash for cover, Raia spotted several of the larger creatures hauling supplies around the clearing. How much weapons did this Covenant have anyway? And why set up this cannon here?

"_You might want to split up for this one, enemy presence is getting larger. I suggest you create a distraction and then make a break towards the cannon directly."_

Arya nodded and peered around the right side of the crate. Then, she whispered something and gestured with her hand. A small echo sounded somewhere in the forest and half the forces immediately turned towards the sound, prompting several of the big, furry creatures to point and yell, sending their forces in.

"Good thinking," Eragon said.

There was something odd between those two. They seemed way too eager to jump at each other. Verbally speaking.

"_Alright, that got their attention. Be ready to move."_

With effectively half the enemy forces turning towards what they most likely thought to be another creature that needed killing, Arya, Eragon and Raia took their move. They managed to reach the underside of the massive gun without being spotted, but there was another problem. Where were they supposed to start blowing the wretched thing apart? It was too large and their pack of explosives could not possible damage it enough to truly falter. Maybe they had to hit one of the legs, make it fall? Or stuff it down the inner mechanisms of the weapon?

"We're here," Eragon told Hudson through the radio as he took cover next to one of the legs. Raia and Arya did the same, hiding in the shadow that the large, imposing limbs offered. "What do we hit?"

"_There's a weak spot at the bottom of the gun, in the center. Where the legs meet."_

So that was the weak spot of the gun carriage? Some shimmering white orb? That wasn't hard to hit, was it? It was a bit of a letdown, actually. "This is it?" Raia quietly hissed at Hudson through the communication device. "That is our target?"

"_It's a lot harder to hit when it closes every three seconds and it's raining fuel rods like Christmas. Hit it and get out of there." _

"Do it," Eragon whispered.

Arya nodded and grabbed the pack of C12, briefly observing it before she looked at the underside of the gun position.

"_You've got baddies coming up. Hurry!"_

The elf sighed and whispered a spell to lift the explosive package into the air. She then carried it up towards the underside of the gun and attached it to the white orb.

"He said it closes?" Arya asked.

Raia shrugged. "Apparently. It's not doing it now."

Before they could get away from the vulnerable spot underneath the giant weapon, one of the shield-bearers came wandering into the clearing between the legs. It saw them and jumped with surprise, after which it raised its weapon and took aim-

-Arya's thrust her arm out and cast a death-spell to take the monster out-

-and the alien toppled over, but not before uttering a loud, garbled scream that attracted the attention of every single soldier in the clearing.

Both Eragon as Raia loudly cursed, but Arya was more sensible than that and yelled, "Run!"

"_You're compromised, go loud!" _Hudson snapped at them through the communication. Immediately after that, he opened fire. The others joined in with him, but Raia did not want to stick around to watch the effect of their shots. She delved deeply into the inner pockets of her mind and improvised a spell off her own, a particular one she had learned from Durza.

The ground around them cracked and hissed and exploded into fire, consuming the very air itself to create the massive flames that would encircle the entire camp of the Covenant.

As the three of them sprinted for the hills, Arya pushed the detonator and triggered the explosives.

No spell could have repeated the massive explosion that the C12 caused; the detonation nearly deafened Raia and the following shockwaves were enough to knock Eragon off his path. Arya had to reach out and pull him back to his feet to save him from tumbling down again-

A second explosion followed after the first one, much more massive in scale. The pure heat and energy produced by it scalded Raia's back and the brilliant beams of light blurred her sight, even though she had her back turned towards the source.

Hudson shouted something at them through the radio, but she could not understand him. What she could understand were the dozens of flashes that soon followed after what had to be the destruction of the massive cannon; return fire from the enemy soldiers who had survived. They were some tough little bastards, too.

Raia made it out first, quickly followed by Arya and then Eragon. She immediately turned around and casted several other spells, whispered to her by the portion of her mind that had been the most corrupted by the presence of the evil spirits. Spells that the elves and humans would no doubt shun as forbidden magic.

It mattered not to her. All she cared about was the destruction of this hated foe; she took the very ground that the Covenant soldiers walked on and turned it against them. She turned the small leftover-stubs of the trees into bombs filled with shrapnel and poisoned the very air that they breathed. The performances of magic left her feeling weak and drained, but also very much satisfied.

"Command, this is Corporal Hudson from Sierra two-five!" the Starborn shouted through the radio. "We have successfully destroyed the Mantis, but we need air-support now! How copy?"

"_Sierra two-five, this is First Lieutenant Mason,"_ the calm voice of the spectacled human leader came through. "_Sierra two-six has successfully repaired that crashed dropship, but it won't be ready for support in time. We'll reroute some Longswords."_

"Copy that sir!"

"So," Eragon said, grabbing his rifle and opening fire on the screaming and raging Covenant forces who took cover near the ruined remains of their cannon. "What now?"

"Now?" Murtagh said, casting a spell and shredding the armor of one of the larger aliens. "Brother, we run like hell!"


	40. Wounded in Action

Medical Officer Dufrain double-checked his readings, rooting out the few errors that had been made. The Augmentation plan for the Secret-Spartans was truly astonishing; the age at which the candidates had been altered, the specific additions that had been made to the MJOLNIR to work with them –the mutagenic drugs for the frontal lobe altering. Truly a spectacle of biological engineering. If God had made Man, he must currently be slapping himself that he had not made them Spartans.

"Alright seven," he muttered. "Show me your secrets…"

The damage report did not lie: the MJOLNIR had been ruined. The damage to its internal structure was so extensive that it was a wonder that the fusion reactor had not been destroyed and many invaluable components had been completely fried. Shields gone, gel layer mostly boiled away and multiple parts of the outer casing were missing. The _When Duty Ends_ carried extra equipment, but to damage such an expensive suit after such damage? Difficult. Perhaps too difficult.

What was more difficult than the damage to the suit, was the damage to the Spartan himself. Even a god of war like seven was not invulnerable to Plasma shots. There were some pretty nasty wounds on large sections of his body, up to third-degree burns, shattered bones and major lacerations. Bringing him up to speed would take weeks of extensive therapies and treatments –and dermacortic steroids would only get them so far. A puzzler, this one.

Dufrain could see the Spartan lying on the bed through the one-way window, where a team of medics were working as hard as they could to keep him away from that annoying brink of death. A group of technicians had been tasked to pry his armour off and carefully remove the micro fusion reactor in MJOLNIR's back, while it was _his _task to keep them all monitored. Including the medics. So far, the latent bran activity in the frontal lobe had been extrapolated and subsequently, it had grown stronger and more frequent with every passing minute. He was most definitely alive in there, somewhere, even though the Covenant had been working very hard to rectify that. Without a proper Spartan with his metal boots on the ground, there would be a lot more casualties.

And while seven would not be fighting Jiralhanae or Sangheili again, he could still prove useful with a rifle. If he didn't make it…well, they could always investigate the effects of a Dragon-Human bond on the neural level. That ought to make some breakthroughs in neuroscience.

Science. The one thing that had allowed mankind to prosper like it had.

For well over an hour the medics worked on the pale, broken form of the fallen warrior. Organs were flash-cloned, bones were very carefully adjusted and set and multiple bags of blood were quickly spent. Meanwhile, the situation planetside seemed to be improving. Some quick-working group of soldiers had destroyed one of the Covenant's more powerful AA guns, allowing for the UNSC to finally set down some proper air-support. Unfortunately, a Destroyer could only carry so much vehicles before it was stuffed to its max, even a newly-designed one like the _Duty_. If they wanted to hit the Covenant, they were going to have to exploit the local forces for a lot of supplies.

Oh well.

The medics had received word about the surgery they were partaking in. An Agent on the field had told them that a team would be waiting for the Spartan to go planetside but that the timing had to be perfect. They couldn't keep seven in surgery forever; once he was even the slightest bit ready for action, it would be boots to the ground with him.

It was strange that a spook was here, of all places. It would explain that even Wren's authority was not absolute though; ONI's will was everywhere. Who knew how many were on Alagaesia even now.

Spooky.

While the spare MJOLNIR parts were being prepared in one of the armouries, it seemed that the group of medics were doing the exact same thing to the soldier that was supposed to fit inside it. Their treatment wasn't very much aimed at long-term recovery, but more at short-term activity. Steroids, epinephrine and drugs all worked wonders on downed soldiers, but it didn't really enhance their lifespan.

Then again, seven's lifespan would be radically different anyway. From what Dufrain had heard, people who had themselves bonded to a dragon reached some form of immortality. Sounded like complete bullshit to him, but the thought was nice.

Magic, the good Captain had told them. This world had magic. Elves, dwarves, monsters and humans. Like a bad fantasy. And worst of all, the Spartan's survival hinged on it. If he wanted to live longer than a few bad, drug-hazed days, he would need some magical fixing. And Wren was almost certain that they would need to look at the elves for that.

The thought filled Dufrain with an odd form of shame. He would gladly be presenting UNSC assets to the primitive locals if it meant getting their approval, especially if they were as attractive and charismatic as the soldiers said they were. But seven, like this? Without his suit, burned and battered like a gutted starship? What sort of image would that evoke in them?

There was a flutter in seven's brain activity. Nothing too major, but still enough to be noticed. Was he aware, or simply dreaming? Some comatose patients would fall into a world between those two, stuck between two worlds and constantly mistaking one for the other.

Did Spartans dream? If so, what did they dream about? War? Or their lives before the war? Maybe they did not dream at all. Maybe, deep inside, they really were machines. Turn it off with one button, turn it on with the other. Both the Covenant as the UNSC seemed to treat them like it; off with plasma, on with medicine.

Perhaps Sunfield could shed some light on that.

The doctors operating on the Spartan soon gave the sign that they had prepped their patient for wake-up. It was soon –a bit too soon, actually- but when the situation was this dire, a few minutes more or less did not matter. At least, not to those who weren't occupied with keeping their medical license. They had kept seven knocked out –not just because the procedure was extraordinarily unpleasant, but because the surgery would fail if he was conscious. It looked like it was time to give him the stims though; the big guy had to walk again.

Dufrain was the one who gave the Captain the word. "It looks like the Spartan is ready for transport, sir."

Wren did not seem to be aware of that. "_What? So soon already? How long have you been working on him?"_

"An hour or two." The hard truth was that Dufrain would much rather follow the orders of a spook than obey the Captain. Wren was a nice fellow and all, but he didn't have the ability to order executions from half a galaxy away. Medical Officers with knowledge of the Augmentation procedure weren't exactly safe, after all. "We can't do much more here, sir. If you want my recommendation as a doctor, we'll need some really good magic."

"_Leave that to me. As soon as he stable, get him to the Hangar. I'll prep a team."_

Dufrain sighed in relief. Undertow would be a pleased Agent. "Copy that sir."

* * *

**Surface of Alagaesia, contested air-region**

Three Banshee interceptors rushed past the AC-270 Gunship, blasting its sides with Plasma and causing Flight Officer Allison to nearly scream with frustration. "Goddamnit Zulu! Keep those Banshees off our ass!"

The response was immediate and to-the-point, way too formal for the Flight Officer. "_Copy that India, but that Seraph came too close to the 'hogs. It had to go."_

"Fine. Just bail us out!"

The second the interceptors had taken their pass, having nearly pummelled the AC's shields flat, Flight Officer Allison opened fire with the 350mm. The heavy-pounder cannon send a powerful shockwave through the gunship and a flash of lightning descended towards the forest. When the round impacted, it did so with all the force of a vengeful god and the forest just flew apart. Trees were incinerated or turned into massive fragmentation grenades, large amounts of dirt and rocks got kicked up in the blast and at least one hovering phantom lost control and crashed into the ground. Plenty of trees left though, but no cover for the Covenant soldiers to attack the escaping team anymore.

"How do you like that!" The flight officer exclaimed.

Her co-gunner –an older, more down-to-earth sort of man- replied, "Good kill."

The two Raven escort-fighters returned to their side and blew the offending Banshees to dust. Rotary 40mm autocannons versus single-pilot interceptors? That was the sort overkill that the Flight Officer loved. "_India Three-Sixteen, we are back in position. Give the word."_

"Just keep us covered Zulu," the co-gunner replied. "This thing's got paper towels for armour; once the shields are down, we're done for."

"_It won't come to that."_

Ravens were new to the UNSC arsenal. While the AC-207 Gunship was utilized when the Spartans needed some good ol' fire support, Ravens were often used when the sky was filled with purple. Their high-velocity armour-piercing rounds made short work of Banshees, Phantoms and even Seraphs and they were fast enough to avoid most AA fire. Of course, their deadly combination of firepower and speed made them somewhat squishy. Still, it beat the hell out of using Longswords in low-altitude. They niche was killing enemy air and they fulfilled that niche perfectly, especially when the Spartan needed a hole punched into enemy defences before insertion.

Hell, he might do the missions, but the crew made it possible.

Allison returned her focus to the optics, where she took a good, long look over the new battlefield. Section 26 had done some excellent work; the Mantis cannon was dead and most of the team had escaped with their lives. The problem was that the Covenant, once stirred, acted much like a hive of angry bees. Someone had disturbed their home and now the entire population came crashing down on the unfortunate human...ish…soldiers.

"_Tangos on our left! To the left!"_ The sole remaining USNC operator on the ground called.

The Flight Officer turned her attention to the left, where a group of Choppers was making its way towards the two jeeps. Tough as the Warthogs might be, the Chopper autocannons had gruesome result on organic targets. Without trained gunners, the 'hogs were sitting ducks.

"More Seraphs," the co-gunner called. "Zulu, get busy."

The gritty voice of the Raven pilot sounded suspiciously like a chuckle before it replied. "_Roger that." _After that, the two fighters accelerated on a direct intercept course, their engines glowing with a tasty shade of blue as they passed the gunship by.

"Happy hunting." The Flight Officer took control over the 120mm rounds and was quick to orient them towards the pursuing Choppers, down on the ground. A personal favourite of hers, these ones. Anything with less armour than a Scarab was instantly obliterated by the sheer force of this round. She doubted even a Spartan's MJOLNIR could withstand the sheer force behind the Armour-Piercing Fin-Stabilized projectile. And if a dose of armour-penetrating overkill wasn't enough, the Gunship could switch to the High-Explosive variant of the 120.

It looked like the situation asked for that right now. The two Choppers were lightly armoured when compared to the destructive capabilities of the APFSDS round. It would be a waste of valuable munitions that could be put to better tank-killing use.

"Switch to the HE," the Flight Officer said.

"Roger that. You gonna get those guys?"

"Sure." She sighted in on the two rapidly-approaching vehicles and sent a round downrange. The Warthogs had already opened fire by the time the HE impacted, rendering their attempts at defence obsolete. The two Brute-piloted reconnaissance crafts were completely obliterated by the supersonic shockwaves and waves of fire produced by the impact of the round. One of the Warthogs was even temporarily knocked off-course, but its heavy suspension gear allowed it to get back to track within a few moments.

Several Ghosts came close to the Warthogs, but one of them suddenly exploded into a ball of bright, blue flames. Of the three remaining vehicles, two were destroyed by the Light Anti-Air Guns that had been fastened to the back of the jeeps, while one of them pulled up to the side of one of the Warthogs. There, the pilot was quickly taken out by whoever was riding shotgun, as the Ghost stalled and the body of an alien got flung out of its seat.

"I've got infantry in the desert," the co-gunner said. Recommend you switch to the fifty."

"Copy. Switching to the fifty." The 50 mm chaingun was a special piece of work. It was quick to win the approval of pretty much any pilot who used it against bad guys during the Human-Covenant war, and for a good reason. "Section 26, be advised; we are laying down fire on the road ahead."

"_Copy that India."_

The Flight Officer smiled and, with a simple touch of a button, reduced the Covenant ground force to a chunky collection of pieces of armour, blood and flesh. The large munitions tore through their bodies, separated limbs from torsos and shredded body armour as if they meant nothing. Several Covenant squads went up just like that and the two Warthogs managed to race through two dunes that would have otherwise shredded them with well-placed ambushes. The Covenant really didn't want them in that desert.

But that did not matter. For once, the Brutes were overpowered. Their 'superior firepower' meant nothing when their own air-support had been knocked out of the sky and this time, the UNSC had full control of the situation.

It felt glorious.

But after they managed to destroy a Wraith that had been lobbing mortars all over the place with the 120 SABOT, something happened that made short work of their efforts. "Heads-up, we've got a mass of hostile air incoming," the co-gunner suddenly said. "Looks like Banshees, and lots of 'em. I suggest we clear out of here, All."

"_Scanners are picking up bogeys. Has to be two dozen. Orders?"_

Damnit. Two Ravens couldn't fend off two dozen Banshees at once and escape intact. "Alright, play-time's over. You hear that, Two-Six?"

The pilot only replied after a few seconds of silence. "We're leaving. Pack up the guns –we're going home."

"_Hey ehm…Corporal Hudson here. What's the ETA on our extraction?"_

"Come again, Corporal?" The co-gunner said. "What extraction?"

"_The get-our-asses-out-of-fire one! Get a Pelican down here, would you?"_

The co-gunner temporarily switched his mike off and turned towards Allison. "Do you know of any extraction?"

She shrugged. "I just work here."

"Right. Corporal Hudson, be advised, we have a large wave of bogeys coming in. Signature suggests Banshees and quite a lot. We do not know of any extraction possibilities –recommend you put the pedal to the metal."

"I don't think they'll make it without air support," the Flight Officer muttered. "Gunny, how much fuel do we got?"

"Enough for another two hours of action. You're thinking of staying and fighting, don't you?"

"Our contingent was never that big, Gunny. I don't think we can risk losing two Warthogs, do you? Let alone our own troops."

"Those Banshees will surely kill us." There was no fear in his voice; it was simply a statement.

"That's what was said in the battle of Britain," she replied.

"I wouldn't exactly call this the battle of Britain, but sure. Why the hell not. Raven escort Zulu, be advised: we're staying."

"_Roger that."_

No complaints, no but's. This might not be Britain, but they had their own aces.

"Enemy interceptors closing in. I spot tight V-formations!" The pilot alerted them. "Let's see how this thing rolls. Hang on to your guns, people."

Crates and boxes slid across the ground as the AC-207 suddenly tilted at least forty degrees, taking the collection of guns away from the ground and aiming them at the sky.

"Holy hell, this is new," Gunny said. "Don't ehm…don't these things break when the elevation level is too high?"

"Only one way to find out. Hang on to your teeth people!"

The squadrons of Banshees came into view and there were lots of them. Brute pilots might be overeager to get their kill, but in their suicidal bravado they could still do quite some damage.

"Let's get these guys. Raven escort Zulu, you still with us?"

"_Roger that. Moving to intercept in five-"_

"Got a new contact," the pilot said. "FOF tags it as one of ours. What was the word on groundside extraction again?"

"I thought there was no extraction?" The Flight Officer replied as she checked her instruments. "Damnit, why doesn't anyone communicate anymore! Are those Pelicans?"

"Two of them, All," the co-gunner said. "One for each warthog. Are we hailing them?"

"We are, no response," Two-six answered. "Brutes aren't smart enough to pull an Installation zero-four, are they?"

"No idea. Let's see what they do."

The Warthogs spotted the approaching Banshees too. In the darkness of the night, the interceptors were hard to spot. Still, whoever were manning those turrets had a good vision, as they managed to open fire a hell of a lot earlier than when normal Marines did. Didn't do much good if the bullets didn't connect, but at that range, it was to be expected.

"Pelicans are touching down near the Warthogs."

"Good," Allison replied as she activated the chaingun. Hundreds upon hundreds of Armour-Piercing rounds slammed into the leading Banshees and absolutely ripped them to shreds. However, the gunship wobbled dangerously and the pilot was quick to point out that they couldn't such an unnatural firing position for much longer.

The Flight Officer cursed and unloaded a 350mm round, hoping to take out enough of the bastards to make a difference, but the heavy missed and harmlessly sailed past the Banshee squadron. Someone at the coast was bound to have their day ruined.

The gunners leapt off their Warthogs and made their way into the blood tray of the Dropships, stray shots of Plasma pocketing the ground around them.

The Raven escorts broke away from the AC and surged towards the incoming wave of Banshees, accelerating to speeds that only Spirit Dropships could match. Going up against such a large wave of enemy interceptors wasn't very smart, but Flight Officer Allison hoped that the pilots knew how to pull off some proper ace-tactics. At the very least, it would buy the soldiers on the ground the time to properly pull out,

"Pelicans are not responding. Someone at command is screwing someone over!" the pilot yelled.

"Recommend we pull out two-six," Allison replied. "Our guys are safe for now. I don't want to test this thing's bad luck any more than necessary."

"Yeah, amen to that. Good work people."

The Flight Officer sighed. Sometimes, she really hated this shit.

* * *

It was during the dark nights such as these that queen Islanzadí truly came to understand what it was to be at war. Her people -once the most powerful and proudest race in Alagaesia- had been reduced to refugees, her home was burning and life was uncertain. Even now, surrounded by the brave men and women from the Starborn humans, danger was everywhere. Every hour could bring further catastrophe and every life that they lost, was a blow to their resistance.

Robbed of the most basic aspects of the life that she had once taken for granted, she came to appreciate the smaller aspects of existence. Perhaps that was why she took to hearing stories from the human culture, spending time and energy attempting to understand what made them who they were. And the rest seemed to be slowly following. Stuck in the cold, hard mountains of the dwarves as they were, they could take comfort in the smaller acts of kindness.

"And there was always war," the young soldier told the gathered group of elves as he gestured with his hands, adding to his story with an animation and sincerity that was exceedingly rare among Islanzadí's normal acquaintances. The small pits of fire kept the air warm and casted long shadows on the hard ground. "As long as there were us, there were reasons to fight. And all of them were ugly. Fighting for freedom, peace and hope –those reasons are pure, but so rare. I'm not versed in my people's history, but there were only one or two wars you could see good and evil. And it was always humans killing humans. Greed, pettiness, religion, hate…those were the true reasons for most of our wars."

It was an odd thing, but to hear of the flaws of the people who were aiding them in this bitter fight felt relieving. It filled the queen with sorrow and sympathy for their plight, but it also helped her find herself back. If this civilization from the stars had managed to cope with their faults, was there not hope for her people either?

"And that was when the monsters came?" One of the few remaining members of the royal family asked. Her question was sincere, though her voice was weak. Having spent years among her council, Islanzadí had become quite familiar with them. She knew how her people thought and how they would respond. If only she knew how to _guide _them.

"Thirty years ago," the man replied. For all the bitterness and darkness that the war had forced him, his eyes retained that striking spark of one who could still see hope and beauty in the world. It made his sincerity even more pure. "That's when the monsters found us."

One of the older elves stirred. "And how old are you, might I ask?" he cautiously asked.

The Starborn smiled. "This year, I'm turning thirty-three. I wasn't that old when I signed up."

Yet Islanzadí wondered where he had signed up. His clothing was different from the rest of the soldiers; where most of the UNSC army was garbed in green and brown armour and clothes, this one wore black and dark purple. Was he part of a special unit? Or did he have a special task? He would not talk about himself.

"And when the Covenant came, our reason for war changed. No more greed or hate. We fought for our own. For our parents, for our children and our partners."

"Is that why you became a fighter?" One of the Lords asked. "To protect your family?"

"Yes. At first, it was. I thought…I thought that, if I only have one life, I should spent it well. I wanted to fight for a world where the people I love would be safe. Where they could live their lives without having to fear monsters, coming to burn them from the sky." He halted, looking away. The expression in his eyes changed and his tone became a different one. It took Islanzadí a few moments to understand why. "But that's history. Once we beat back the Covenant here, we can build our own."

"Do you believe we can best them?" One of the ladies asked. She sounded so vulnerable.

The soldier looked at her with an expression that could best be described as curiosity. "Believe…is an odd word. What I know…is that we will fight them. We will fight them in space, we will fight them in the sky, we will fight them on the ground. In the forests, in the mountains, in the cities. I believe that, in the end, we will never let them win."

That stirred a wide range of emotions in the gathered listeners. They were boisterous words, spoken in earnest. They brought back memories of a burning home and a dying forest, but also a resolve that had nearly been broken. They did signal the end of this gathering though; there was much to be done and Islanzadí did not wish for her people to grow idle.

"Well spoken," Islanzadí said. "But I fear we must return to our duties tonight. Another time, another day?"

The soldier reached for his helmet. "Of course, your Highness. I am glad I was able to help."

The queens smiled. Such good manners.

While the various elves around the bonfires stood and bid the Starborn their farewell, Islanzadí took a few moments to observe him. There was something different about him. He carried himself differently from the other soldiers. Different from the Captain Wren and his people…more like Spartan. She was not so certain where the cause for that difference lay, as it was subtle to the eye, but…it would require further thinking.

Furthermore, to leave without knowing his name would be an insult to him. She would not stand for that.

"I thank you for your time, warrior," Islanzadí said when she was alone with the Starborn. He had yet to don his helmet again and the fire casted a strange light on his features. "And I am sorry for your loss."

There was a hitch in his movements, just a minor one. Then, he donned his helmet once more, and all semblance of his humanity faded away. "I don't understand, your Highness."

Even when he was lying, he held his politeness. "Your family. They are not alive, are they?"

Silence. Hesitation on his part, politeness on her part. Then, "That's a different story, madam."

The message was clear and Islanzadí did not inquire further. "Would you tell me your name, warrior? I have to remember it."

"Night, your Highness."

This time, the queen could not tell if he was lying or not. It alarmed her; compared to the elven race, humans were remarkably easy to read. They carried their emotions in their tones, their expression and the very way they moved. While the Starborn were noticeably harder to assess, they were not closed books to her. So why was it that such a simple thing like a name would throw her off? Once more, further reflecting was required. "That is an unusual name for a human, Night."

The soldier lowered his head and turned to face her. "Different cultures, different names. Your highness, if I may? I would like to ask you a question."

Islanzadí nodded. "Within acceptable boundaries, of course."

"During the Battle of Aberon, there was an accident."

Though his voice remained the same, his choice of words called forth a sense of unease in the queen. An accident was not specifically a death, was it?

"He's always been somewhat unstable after long periods of fighting."

Who was? What was Night talking about?

"And not even he can fight Hunters in close combat and get away unscathed. Our medics are doing all they can, but they can't work miracles."

He was not talking about Eragon, nor Ajihad. Then who…?

"We don't know all the details, but just two hours ago, Secret-Spartan zero-zero-seven was found close to the Mountains, wounded in action."

Islanzadí bowed her head. She…had not expected to hear that.

"He sustained injuries that would kill even a Spartan. We're fixing him the best we can, but even with our technology…his days are numbered."

"There is nothing you can do?" she whispered. The blow of losing Spartan was the greatest she could have feared. "And what of Aeraleth?"

Night didn't move a muscle as he talked. He guarded his emotions, much like an elf. The differences between the Starborn and the elves seemed to lie in technology and experiences only. "All we can do is control the damage that was done. His physique is…unique. Some damage we can't undo without worsening the rest. Aeraleth is…nonresponsive."

"We have to be able to help," Islanzadí replied. "Our spellcasters can reach results that no medicine can. If you would allow it, we could combine our efforts."

"That was what I wanted to ask, actually. After his treatments on our ship, the Spartan will travel planetside again. Without follow-up therapies and additional support, he won't last three days. But with magic…"

"There will be a chance for him to fight once more?" the queen inquired.

"Depending on the skill of the magician. I heard that elves have more…finesse…in the arts of magic."

"Finesse, control, ability –our magicians outclass human magicians by far," Islanzadí was quick to point out. Despite the situation, she felt proud that her people were still able to help. In these dark times of total war, they were still in possession of unique skills. Skills that would make a difference. "Though our numbers have decreased, we can still offer our aid."

Night bowed his head again. "I thank you, your Highness. Once the situation calls for it, we will know where to find you."

That last statement felt off, somehow. There was more intent behind it than the simple meaning. For all his politeness and good manners, Night felt –for a lack of better words- dangerous. He was an unknown human and because of that, his presence brought uncertainty.

The queen inclined her head at the Starborn. "Then I shall take my leave. There is much to discuss for my council."

"Of course, your Highness. Good luck."

For Islanzadí, there was much more to worry about than the double tongue of one human soldier. The possible demise of what had to be their most powerful ally was grave news, much graver than she had anticipated. For all of his faults, the Spartan had been a reliable factor and an immensely-powerful soldier. Stronger and faster than Kull, with more battlefield experience than any field commander could hope for. What was more, the hold that the elves and the Varden had on him was equal to the hold that the UNSC had. A true neutral Rider.

She remembered his antics so clearly. His insulting manner of speaking, the brash truth and lack of care for the feelings of others. More combat experience than her, he had said. She had been furious! He, who was no more than a child compared to her, had dared claim to possess more skill than her. In the end, his bold claim had proven true. It was a secret well kept, but its nature had been betrayed by the complete secrecy and paranoia that the UNSC insisted on keeping with them.

Spartan had been at war since he had been very, very young. The truth behind his life would have to be revealed in its full form, but the basic message was clear. The UNSC had shaped children into weapons of war. A most cruel and unforgivable crime –one that would have to be addressed, later. Too late she had found out about it though, and the realization had made for some harsh hindsight.

But deep down, whatever he was, the Spartan was a good person as well. Misguided, bitter, but ultimately a force of good. She would not see him die.

Islanzadí returned to the area of the mountains that her council had claimed for itself. Of the many experienced lords and ladies, only a few remained. Powerful heads of various families and Houses, ended by this relentless and merciless foe.

But they still had assets. They had Eragon and Murtagh. Quite possibly, the Empire could put a halt to the advantage of the Covenant. Even more, the Mourning Sage was still with them, coordinating the survivors of Du Weldenvarden and taking them to safety.

The queen arrived at her new, if temporary, home. With no trees to use in the mountains, the elves had been forced to use their magic in different ways. Tents used by the Starborn soldiers proved to be strong, light and resistant to cold as well as rain. With the proper spells, those could be turned into reliable homes.

She took the small mirror that she had managed to salvage and weaved the necessary incantations over its frame, creating the link she needed.

Lord Däthedr, left in command of their forces, entered the tent and approached Islanzadí. "Your Majesty, you have returned. Good. Arya and her group have returned."

Islanzadí felt her heart leap, but she had to keep her calmness. "My daughter has returned? Most excellent. Däthedr, would you retrieve her? I must speak to her."

"Of course, Your Majesty. It will be done."

As soon as the Lord turned around and took his leave, Islanzadí finished the incantation and found contact with the Mourning Sage. The last of the Riders of Old.

"_Islanzadí,"_ he said. He was still intact, looking no worse than when the queen had last seen him. That was good. "_How goes the war?"_

"He had foregone the formal greetings. A clear message –so would she. "I am not fully aware of the course of the war, but Surda has fallen. The survivors have pulled back into the Beor Mountains, working with the dwarves to create as many defences as possible."

"_The Beors can house thousands, but they will easily be spotted by enemy air scouts. How about food, water?"_

Islanzadí sighed. "The Starborn are quite capable of guiding the lost souls and creating homes. Their soldiers however, are few. Becoming less with each battle. My daughter…Arya has joined their forces, and so has Eragon."

"_It is foolish to think you can keep Arya and Eragon out of this war, Islanzadí. You cannot forbid the other children of our race to fight and neither can you forbid them."_

"I will not forbid her…I do not think it would work. There are so many heroic spirits here, with the UNSC. Heroes to inspire and motivate. More and more of my people are asking the Starborn to be assigned to the front lines and fight. I…I fear for their lives, Oromis."

"_So do I, Islanzadí. There is still light in this long night of despair; more of our kin made it out than I expected. More than you expected. Hope still lives, though the risk grows ever more. Glaedr cannot risk going hunting, for fear the enemy will find us. Staying unnoticed is once more our greatest asset."_

Her people lived! Islanzadí clutched her heart, filled with relief. "Oromis…your words elate me. I shall ask for our allies to turn their eye once more to Du Weldenvarden. There has to be a way to reunite the remnants."

"_There is. Or, there will be. Now you must listen to me, Islanzadí. The enemy is scouring Du Weldenvarden, looking something of great importance. Gilderien the Wise has vanished, as he said he would."_

Gilderien, gone? "Since when?"

"_Since the invaders arrived. He told me that he needed to return to the Outpost of the Sun at once. He had to find the other one like him, as he stated it."_

"Another one like him? He is the gatekeeper of Du Weldenvarden, nobody else. What did he mean?"

"_What he meant, Islanzadí, is very simple. He is not like us, not truly. His existence has always been an enigma. Now, there are two enigmas. And from what I gather, the second enigma does not look kindly upon us."_

"An enigma? Oromis, what do you mean?"

"_It is all fairly convoluted, I am afraid. From my understanding, it involves the ancient people of the Forerunners, mentioned once or twice by the Spartan. The apparent gods that disappeared, if you will. He knows why this Covenant of species is here and what they want. I do not know more."_

Islanzadí shook her head, unwilling to believe the madness that was happening around her. "Oromis, you must keep my people safe! I implore you! The Starborn have nearly lost the Spartan and our numbers are few-"

"_The Spartan?" _Oromis interrupted her. "_How do you mean, lost?"_

"He was terribly injured during the fight over Surda's capital. He is alive, but barely. The healers from the UNSC say that he might not live to see the day. Magical healing is required…and we lost most of our powerful healers when the Covenant burned our home. Rider…I feel like I went astray once more."

The Rider fell silent for a few moments, perhaps taking in Islanzadí's words. When he next spoke, his voice was calm and solemn. "_Your Majesty…in the wake of this attack, it is imperative that you keep your cool. Mind not the soldier who dances and laughs, mind not the warrior who is stoic and silent. Work together with the Starborn, fight the enemy using all tactics and advantages you have and understand that you are a queen for the people. Not the other way around. When I return to your side, I will aid you. But now, I will take care of those who need me most. Good luck, my queen."_

Islanzadí watched as the Rider ended the magical link on his end, turning the mirror into a dull piece of glass once more. As always, his words were like a puzzle, only to be unlocked if she could find the pieces. But this time, the pieces were with her. She was the queen for the people, not the other way around. They needed her and she would be there for them.

If Spartan required healing of a magical nature, who else was competent enough to grant it but her? Who else could handle the responsibility?

"Däthedr," she called, for the lord was certain to be within hearing range. "I need you."

Within several heartbeats, the warrior appeared before her. "Your Majesty. How might I further your cause?"

"The prophecy about the stars…what did it state again?"

"I…pardon me, the prophecy?"

Fear, in his voice. She could not use it. "Yes. What did it state again?"

"It stated that one would come from the star, with a destiny to burn the land. A starborn warrior would, with his own hands, burn across all of Alagaesia and destroy civilizations. W-why would you be interested in this, my lady?"

The queen averted her eyes. Some thoughts shamed her more than others. "When I first met Spartan…I thought he would be the one to end us. And then the Covenant came. But if we are to fight them and win…who would be left to scourge our land? To threaten our race? Spartan is the only possible candidate."

"I understand your reasoning, but do you not fear the human Captain Wren? The abominable, the Sangheili Commander?"

"Perhaps, with time and reason. But the Spartan…as I said, he is the most likely one to snap. I would not like to see that. When the moment comes…and if he somehow loses himself fully…do you think you could match him?"

Lord Däthedr thought long and silently before he gave his reply. "It stains my honour to say…I can not defeat the Rider in combat. I have not the ability, magical or physical, to do so."

"I see. If that moment ever arrives, do you think I could do it?"

"You hold more chance than I, my queen. Why do you think of this?"

The decision to help bring the soldier back to what he had once been was not a minor one. She would heal his body, but she could not repair his mind. Whatever the nature of the prophecy would turn out to be, it involved either him or the leader of this Covenant. If she attempted to restore the Rider to his former strength, she would enable him to do the evil said he would do. Responsibilities…again, who else could? "I do apologize, Däthedr, but this is where the need for explanation ends. I need you to find Arya and bring her to me. There are matters she and I must attend to."

The lord bowed. "It shall be done, Your Majesty."

Islanzadí sighed and gestured for him to take his leave. There was so much to do…so much to take care of. This land did not feel like it used to anymore; it was as if the very air had grown wrong. A corruption stained the magical balance and it had long since tipped over to the wrong side. Some of her more sensitive magicians had complained about…voices. Voices whispering to them, threatening them and all who lived. Voices that sounded like many dozens of vile, unimaginable creatures laughing and ranting. They would appear and disappear at random, but they were not the imaginations of those with damaged minds. Islanzadí was certain that they were far more than simple delusions. No, this war with the Covenant was not their biggest concern. The nature of the threat that loomed above them was greater still.

But how, she wondered, would she take care of that? Which priorities would she take and if necessary, how much was she willing to sacrifice?

* * *

The crafts had increased the frequency with which they took the air. They soared through the sky, shattering the still that had taken a hold of the night. Their presence did little to remove the pressure that seemed to weigh down on life itself, like a smothering carpet, unyielding and impossible to ignore.

With apathy, Daenlith watched them appear and disappear in the mountains. Sleek craft with the power to destroy at will, yet incapable of being there when the need was the highest. Section-26 had destroyed the Covenant ordnance, allowing the steel birds to freely travel. As if the cage holding them had been shattered.

How much of their effort would go to waste once more? How long before the rest of them withered and died, like flowers facing their inevitable mortality? The promises that bound them all together meant as much as their lives, so easily taken, so unreasonably vulnerable.

The elf lowered her head against her knees and silently moaned. Throbbing, painful and distracting, pounding the focus and hold on her thoughts away. Voices, eerie and distant, seeking to lure her out of the leftovers of what had once been an unmatched discipline, clueless to the pointlessness of it all.

The home that was not her home burned, the war that was not hers raged on and on and the rest of them foolishly clung to a life without meaning. The scars on her body ached, yet did nothing to distract her from the lonely, bitter pain that crept on the edges of her mind. What did it mean to be truly alone? Was everybody eventually doomed to die alone, far away from home?

And who had comforted him? Aeraleth, traumatized and horror-gripped by the loss of the one person whom she truly loved and knew? Had he found peace before expiring, or had he breathed his last feeling hated and bitter, cursing those who continually stabbed him in the back?

It mattered little now…gone was gone. An abyss, eternal darkness. Nothingness. The most unnecessary and cruel death in this long, senseless conflict. If fate really wanted them gone that bad…it could go ahead and take them. It could take her; she was done. Done with Alagaesia, done with fighting.

She would have to find someone who could take care of Aeraleth. Help her come through, or otherwise end her suffering altogether. Perhaps the dragoness would die on her own…but Daenlith refused to leave her for the monsters to tear apart. When the time came, it would be better for her to die fighting.

It would be better for the two of them to die fighting together. One last honour to the warrior whose personal name she had never found out.

Did that make her a failure? He had failed to keep his promise…she had failed to protect a friend. The thought was especially satirical. In her life, those around her had claimed that she had failed her hall. Her House and her family scorned her and as a result, she had failed them. And now, she had failed him. A void leaving a void.

The air was quiet. Still so. The black dragoness lay on the ground where she had landed on that fateful hour. She had not moved an inch. Pieces of purple and black debris lay scattered around her. Rocks were scorched, corpses were blackened and ripped asunder. Blind rage and unstoppable hate, followed by soul-crushing grief and pain. Always the pain.

A last responsibility. Doomed to failure as well. A dragon could not overcome the grief of losing their Rider. A young one like Aeraleth…it was sad. She would not make it through the night.

Spartan had not truly died alone. Aeraleth would not die alone either. When she lost the will to live…someone should be _ther_e with her when she lost the will to live. It was the least that she could do now.

Daenlith looked up and saw one ship approach from the sky, decidedly human in its appearance. Dark like the night, stubby wings and a plated flanks. Aerial vehicles on another nightly patrol. Despite the loss of their champion, the humans continued fighting…and dying.

But the ship did not fly over the mountains. Instead, it moved towards the camp. It was so silent…so eerie.

Aeraleth stirred and turned her head towards the craft.

Daenlith narrowed her eyes. The first time in many hours since the dragoness had moved, even with all the vessels traveling around these parts. And though the movement was slow and subtle, it was still movement.

Not one of these vehicles had caused Aeraleth to react like that.

The elf glanced at the once-majestic creature and bowed her head. _I will be back soon,_ she vowed. Then she stood, oriented herself towards the camp.

She had once caught Spartan scurrying around her house in the depth of night. Now she would do the equivalent of sneaking around his. Or what should have been his.

However, the craft did not settle down anywhere near the camp. It hovered to a position beyond and to the right, over a trail of rocks that led to a small plateau. Nobody followed it. Nobody cared but her.

Like Du Weldenvarden.

Only when it had moved to a position with no witnesses did the vessel come down. The force that came from the glowing power sources was vast; clouds of dust and pieces of rock were wrenched free and buffeted the small plateau, which looked out over the side of the Hadarac dessert.

Not wanting to be spotted by the men and women inside of the craft, Daenlith stayed hidden behind an outcropping of rocks. While she cared little for all the secrets and lies that the humans were so fond of, she would not have them spot her that easily.

The large, metal door at the back of the craft opened with a low hiss and hovered a small distance above the ground, allowing a handful of humans to exit the metal vehicle. Two of them flanked a third one, who-

Daenlith's heart leaped, but her mind did not dare follow. It could not be; that man was dead! She had watched him die –she had been at his side while his life faded away. The Covenant had mortally wounded him and that vile, wretched creature in the dessert had ended it.

But the ghastly pale skin, bright eyes and large physique did not lie. His appearance was truthful, though he was far from the elegant warrior that Spartan had been. As the ship closed its door and took off again, the soldier in the middle took a few, limping steps while the two next to him nervously followed. They were armed, but lightly so.

One of them stepped in front of the ghost that had returned to haunt Daenlith, and started to talk. He didn't get very far before his head suddenly sprang open with a thin trial of red. Something punched through his skull, kept going and impacted on Spartan's shoulder, retaining its force and coming out on the other side. Fresh blood coated the pale rocks even as the projectile buried itself into the sediment, after which a soft noise echoed through the air, barely noticeable

The elf gasped and darted from her cover, while the other human and the Spartan –corporeal and in mortal danger- sluggishly raised their weapons. But they were so slow. Too slow.

Daenlith leaped at the Spartan and grabbed him by his unwounded shoulder, using her speed as a leverage to fling the two of them aside. A second shot rang out, virtually out of nowhere, and claimed the life of the second human.

With no time to think and no time to speak, the elf casted a spell solely based on the power of her will. The stones in the ground underneath them rose up into the air and formed a solid wall between them and the direction from which the fire had come, roughly the size of a normal man and wide enough to block a hail of bolts.

Twice the lightning struck like a whisper, punching through the improvised cover in the span it took Daenlith and Spartan to duck. Twice the projectile impacted on the ground, betraying the angle of the shot and possibly the position of the assassin.

"Thrysta brisingr!" the elf cried, shattering the ground that led to the path away from this murder-hole, creating a large cloud of dust and smoke. "Move, quickly!"

She grabbed the shocked Spartan by his arm and pulled him away from the wall, frustrated and confused by the lack of response or even movement that he showed. Did he not value his life? This was no magical attack; someone had taken a UNSC weapon and used it against the Starborn with skill only found in their own warriors!

Was it a political conflict? Had the Spartan been the target, or the two flanking him? And who was the cowardly, snake-tongued mongrel that would dare attack their own allies? And why, _why _had she discarded her weapons upon returning from the battlefield? To fend off an invisible assassin with nothing but magic was a fool's errand!

Daenlith paused halfway down the slope, where the rock walls were too steep for a gunman to attack them. "Spartan, what do we do?"

He did not respond to her. He was clutching his shoulder, staring blankly ahead with glazed eyes. Blood poured from the open wound and his legs were trembling.

"Spartan?"

Silence. Seemingly stuck between aware and unaware, consciousness and unconsciousness.

The elf gritted her teeth averted her eyes. Secrets stacked upon secrets –they would be the death of them one of these days!

Daenlith reached for the weapon on her friend's thigh and ripped it out of its holster. He did not respond to her transgressions. She would have to discover the reason for that another day. Now, their roles were reversed. And she would do anything in her power to safeguard him.


	41. Saving grace

With the Spartan's pistol kept tightly in her hands, Daenlith considered the two possibilities that she could take to make this confrontation end without further risking her friend's safety. Both were difficult to successfully complete and both were exceedingly dangerous. But what other choice did she have? To stay down here forever was fool's errand; their assailant would find a way to get down to their position and then what? They would be no better off.

And normally, knowing that one was about to come under attack, preparations could be made for one's defence. But there was something terribly wrong with the one she needed to protect, too. How could there not be? He had died. He had passed on and yet here he was, stuck in yet another life-or-death situation.

So would she risk it? Would she risk the assassin getting another shot on them just to escape from this death-trap? Or would she stand her ground and fight?

No, that sort of thinking was wrong. It wasn't simple like that, choosing from two options. There were options she needed to keep in mind, advantages to take. Wards would offer no protection, not for her nor for Spartan. But their attacker was restricted by the same limitations –if she could just get one good shot in, or attack from a blind side, she could end.

The elf glanced at her side, where her brother-in-arms had slumped over against a wall, his legs having given away underneath his body. Her initial frustration at his odd behaviour had long since turned to fear and worry for his wellbeing. "It will get better," she gently said. If he slipped away from her now, she wouldn't get him back again.

She took a deep breath and cast a spell that created a shimmery mirror-image of Spartan, positioned right next to her. It looked blurry and _very _crude, but it would have to work for now. She sent the ghost into the open, mimicking a running soldier and-

A shot was sent through the figure's head, dissipating the spell. The same angle that the other soldiers had been caught unaware by. A position higher in the rocks, hidden in some vantage point. A perfect overwatch. Here, with all these rocky trails and dangerous routes, fleeing was no option.

An offense it would be.

"It does seem we are stuck," she said. Fortune; her companion was not bleeding bad enough to threaten his life. Whatever ailed him must have come from somewhere else –and she was willing to believe that his unexplained recovery had something to do with that. "But I have other ideas." She spoke in the ancient language to prevent the assassin from listening in on her words, just to be certain, but whether Spartan could understand her like that...that was less certain.

Daenlith did not expect a reply. She looked around for the most obvious routes that might be used to outflank them and started weaving incantations to safeguard them. Spells that would trigger upon proximity, curses that would let her know when someone approached her from a certain direction. Traps like the ones in Du Weldenvarden, which would detonate violently if approached closely.

The memories. When this was all over, she would take him to the forests once more.

Then, Daenlith commenced on a most dangerous hunting game together with her foe. Content that Spartan was safe where he lay, she grabbed her knife and carefully left her initial cover. With the pistol in one hand and the blade in the other, she broadened her mental view and searched the area for living beings. There were many creatures hidden in the mountain, small and large, but none of them were even remotely relevant. She cut off those who were too alien for her to understand and searched again. In the meantime, she stayed sharp for the sounds of falling rocks, or metal striking metal.

She found…something. A human mind, but…very well hidden. Smooth, without weaknesses. As strange as Spartan's mind and even better defended. It was so subtle…so hard to catch that she would have missed it had she not been explicitly been searching for it.

But that information –lacking in detail it might- brought her closer to the truth. Her foe was neither elf nor fully human. It was something else, something that she could locate precisely if she focused enough. It was odd that a mind was unable to be directly attacked like that; even Spartan had been susceptible to mental attacks, even though his resistance was formidable.

She wished that there was a way to call for help. That Starborn communication technique seemed so far away…

The Spartan stirred and he groaned, raising his head. "I'll provide c-cover fire," he said through clenched teeth. It sounded like he had trouble even speaking to her. "You get clear."

Daenlith hopped out of her improvised vantage point and knelt next to the Spartan again, feeling his forehead. He was running a fever. "No."

"What-?"

"I made a promise," she told him, subconsciously checking her traps and spells for any contact with the enemy. "Can you move?"

The Spartan closed his eyes. "…we need help."

Daenlith smiled bitterly. There would be no help for them. They were trapped here, but they would fight their way out. They always did. "Just stay here…let me take care of this."

The silence was maddening. No contact, nothing. This foe that came after them with ranged weaponry was nowhere to be found. The consciousness that she had found before, was now gone. No…not entirely gone. It was present, lingering on the edge of her reach. It changed, or it had changed. Less smooth, more ragged. More human.

And then it moved. Moved with speed and precision, like an elf. But no elf would be so accurate so soon, so it could not be an elf.

But whatever this thing was, it was not alone. Something else snuck around the rock-filled death-trap, feeling much like the other one.

The elf turned around just in time to catch one of her traps going off, but the one that tripped it was not affected by it in any way. She saw a dark figure, darting towards her from over the rocks. Pieces of rubble and clouds of sand had been kicked up by the magical trap the figure had triggered, silent and invisible from several angles, but it just kept going.

Spirits, it was fast. Faster than any creature she had seen before, with the possible exception of Spartan in his suit. In the several heartbeats it took to get to her, Daenlith was only able to identify it as roughly human in nature. Two arms, two legs, dark suit and reflecting helmet. Slim, tall, armed.

By the time she had taken a hold of the handle of her sword, their assailant had stepped right close to her and grabbed her wrist, preventing her from pulling her blade from her belt.

But she had anticipated that gesture, and Daenlith was far from vulnerable. Unable to draw her sword, she simply took a quick step back and pulled her belt away from her blade, before placing her free hand on its edge and bringing it down to the shadow's neck.

The hostile saw her counter and released her blade, quickly side-stepping her blow-

Something impacted on Daenlith's chest, shattering her Ward and knocking the breath out of her. She staggered backwards, clutching her torn clothes and, with her remaining breath, crafted a spell that would tear her foe's heart in half. Not wanting to risk it surviving, she located its mind and unleashed a mental attack powerful enough to immediately cripple any human magician.

Blood erupted from the assassin's chest, but too low for it to have come from its heart. It did little to face him either. She knew that her enemy was a male, for its mind was undoubtedly that of an UNSC soldier. She caught glimpses of the war in his consciousness, but it felt wrong. Corrupt. Its mental shield was smooth, wavering. Like its mind constantly shifted position. Like an animal attempting to get a grip on a sphere, she was unable to crush his resistance.

With ferocious speed, he dodged her various blows and then pocketed a knife of his own, brandishing it in the familiar reverse grip. His armour had a purple hint to it, like the vehicles of the Covenant creatures. His helmet betrayed nothing of his face, a perfect mirror of the Spartan before his fall from grace.

No human could match her in combat. Even a group of Kull would fall before her speed and techniques. To match her like this…who was he?

The secret of his identity would have to remain. Daenlith shouted and pressed the assault once more, moving her blade like an extension of her limbs. Its edge tore through the air, each time only narrowly missing her target. Overhanded strikes, diagonal slashes and feints were not enough to claim his head, as his speed was greater than hers. His steps were like the night, untraceable and without warning. Two times he attempted to draw out his other ranged weapon and both times, Daenlith pressed on her magic and agitated the open wound on his chest, for there was little else she could do. Her spells could not claim his life, her blade was too slow and she dared not risk come close enough for those lethal fists of his.

The third time came when the elf leapt back to avoid another blow, neglecting to take into account that she only made herself vulnerable like that. The faceless soldier raised his weapon and in that split-second, Daenlith ran out of options. Time stood still. Her sword, decorated by Rhunon years ago, stood at her shoulder, aimed at the skies and ready for a strike that would not come. So even she made mistakes in war.

Time ran out.

Something hard and small smashed against the soldier's leg, bending his leg at an odd angle and sending him stumbling. His weapon lowered, Daenlith took her chance and darted towards a nearby outcropping of rocks, dodging the salvo of return fire that was bound to come. She saw what had saved her skin; Spartan hefted a rock in his hand, pulling himself up against the rock wall behind him with the other.

Even near death, he still defied all odds.

Daenlith tapped into her inner pool of magical energy, lashing out will the force of her will to shatter the land around her. Rocks exploded from the ground, her traps detonated and sent waves of searing heat and energy washing over the land and the enemy soldier stumbled, his powerful legs temporarily crippled by Spartan's superior aim.

His timing was impeccable. Immediately after having granted the elf several moments of relief, he moved to engage the new target. Slowly, wavering. About to keel over, but so determined. That was what she liked about him; while everyone in her life just gave up when life became too difficult, Spartan never quit. He always kept going, no matter what the odds.

Even if it resulted in his own undoing.

She would not let him get that far.

The enemy was determined, too. Even with one of his knees damaged like that, he turned towards the Spartan and raised his weapon again. That thing needed to disappear, now!

"Brisingr!" Daenlith yelled, engulfing the pistol in bright flames and forcing the soldier to drop it. In that brief moment pause, Spartan managed to recollect himself long enough to lunge at the enemy, covering the few meters between them with several quick strikes.

Knowing that he would not fare long in his current condition, the elf made the split-second decision of throwing all caution into the wind and leaping after him. Her mind raced to process the finer details of this fight, of the capabilities of her foe. His speed, his strength, his near single-mindedness in killing her friend. Why, why was an UNSC soldier after Spartan? Had the civil wars like the dwarves often saw, reached the Starborn as well? Did someone want their Rider dead?

She would not stand for it.

In a flash, the Spartan and the soldier clashed together. Bare fists and cold steel met in the height of close-quarters combat, splinters of rock and pieces of dirt exploded outwards from the ground and red blood dripped to the ground as the first strikes took home. The assassin swept his knife through the air, chaining together several patterns of slashes and stabs. He was so _fast; _his movements were a blur that not even Spartan could follow. As formidable as he had once been in combat, he had no way to deliver that same punishment now. The knife carved deep wounds in his arms as he attempted to vanquish his foe, weaving back and forth to avoid the worst of the damage. His arms shot out like venomous snakes, striking lightning-fast but shallow blows, all of which were then deflected or outright dodged b the assassin.

Strike, twist and counter, grapple and counter once more. Their movements were like a choreographed play, blending together seamlessly and with the utmost focus. The enemy stabbed at Spartan's head, but he moved his hand in-between his eyes and the blade, allowing it to penetrate his flesh as well as pinning it down for a crucial moment. As the knife came out on the other side of his hand, stopping a mere inch in front of his face, he countered and lashed out with his other arm, connecting his elbow with the visor of the faceless enemy. His helmet bended and cracked, the glass visor shattering underneath the impact.

The victory was short lived. With a ferocious kick to Spartan's midsection, the soldier won back his initiative in the fight, driving the once-mighty warrior back with ease.

That stopped when Daenlith joined the fray. Outflanking her enemy, she brought her own blade to bear and very nearly claimed his head. Only at the last moment did he turn around, bringing his bloodied knife up to block her strike. Their blades clashed in mid-air, jarring Daenlith's arm and numbing her fingers. She stepped back, pulled her blade away and struck again, low. The blow aimed at her foe's calf was stopped like her first one, but when she pulled back and struck a third one, Spartan had recovered enough to throw himself into the fight once more.

One knife against a sword was an even match. But together, Daenlith and Spartan were enough to drive the assassin back. The elf took great care not to accidentally harm her friend, as the naturf their fight was frantic and chaotic. Blades flashed through the air, arms moved back and forth and Daenlith soon found herself attempting to exploit every possible opening that her foe dropped. She spun around Spartan's back and slashed at an exposed elbow, nicking it and scratching the armour. She stepped aside and took a lunge at an unguarded knee, further damaging the joint and sending her foe stumbling.

Spartan was bleeding, limping and barely keeping himself upright though, which forced Daenlith's hand. More and more did she move to guard _his _openings instead of exploiting her foe's, allowing the fight to escalate once more. Their combined efforts reached a fever pitch when Spartan stumbled and collapsed, prompting the assassin to take his chance and remove his damaged helmet, revealing a pale and very human physique.

His eyes were so _bright_…an eerie shade of blue, deep like the ocean and as alien as the hordes stalking the land.

Daenlith recognized the tactical advantage of his movement and stepped back, moving to shield her fallen comrade with her blade. Without his damaged visor, the Starborn would be able to see better. Fight better.

The assassin frowned with annoyance and took his gaze away from the elf for just a second, sighing as he did. "What-?"

Then, multiple things happened at once. He raised his knife at another contact, who had been approaching them from a different angle. There was a shout, a gunshot. And Daenlith watched as blood exploded from the side of the already-wounded Starborn, who fell to his knees and shook his head.

"Takeo," he muttered as the new presence on the battlefield approached him. The elf dared not take her eyes off of this lethal enemy, but she could not help but glance at the other one. It seemed that another Starborn had heard the violence of their fight, deciding to investigate. Odd features, slanted eyes and black hair. A subrace she had not seen before. But those eyes…deep, bright and penetrating. Inhuman, out of place. Much like Spartan's.

"Takeo- "

They knew each other?

The other soldier raised his pistol at the assassin's head and pulled the trigger, sending a bullet right through his skull. Though the noise was deafening, Daenlith did not wait to see the results of the shot. She turned around and immediately made towards her fallen ally, kneeling next to him and checking for injuries. Her mind raced to process the possibilities, the threats. He had died -she was sure of that. Aeraleth was slowly dying as well, as the mental between the two of them had been forcefully shattered. But here he was, alive and very much hurt.

Daenlith looked up and over her shoulder when she heard footsteps approaching her. The man whom the assassin had referred to as 'Takeo', with his ghastly eyes and odd armour. Not purple, but dark blue. His was the mind she had felt during the fight; he had been overlooking them during their struggles, she was sure of it. And timely as his interference had been, his presence gave off an aura that she couldn't quite place.

And she didn't take her eyes off of him. Now that the UNSC could not control their own soldiers anymore, everyone was an enemy. She wouldn't risk her friend's life by blindly extending her sparse trust like that.

The man glared at her, looking down figuratively and physically. She could see the condescendence in his eyes, the contempt he held for her and the one whose life she so desperately wanted to protect. His opinion mattered little to her, but it became clear that she would find no support with him. There was something hostile…something dangerous.

Would she be able to best him if it came to it? Take his life before he took hers?

Voices, from the lower path to the left. Shouts, yells. People approaching them. The gunshot had not gone unnoticed.

Relief washed over her as she watched two familiar shapes come into view. People she could trust, fully. People who would help her take Spartan away from this accursed place.

As Arya and Eragon rapidly approached, the Starborn backed off and headed towards the place where the two corpses lay. Where blood poured into the rocks, marking a new and dark day in this wretched alliance where allies preyed upon allies.

"Daenlith," Arya said, eyeing 'Takeo' as he left. She raised a sceptical eyebrow, but her expression soon turned to surprise when she saw the body lying on the ground. And then to horror, as comprehension dawned upon her. "What happened? Is that…is that Spartan?"

"Please," Daenlith urged in the ancient language, preventing anyone not of her kind from listening in on them. "He needs help." Talking was tiring, straining her more than she had expected. These new wounds would bring ruin to her own recovery. Had she pushed herself too far?

Eragon knelt down next to Spartan as well, glancing at his assortment of wounds and odd medical appliances. "You are wounded, Daenlith svit-kona. Who attacked you?"

Though the boy's respectful tone pleased her, his lack of priorities did not. "Later. He needs aid, now! His injuries will kill him!"

Taken by surprise by her sudden increase in volume, Eragon and Arya exchanged a look. As the Rider moved to lift the Spartan from the ground, carefully so, Arya turned towards Daenlith and gestured at the corpse that lay mere meters away from them. "What happened? Did that man assault you?"

"Arya," Eragon called before there was a chance to answer. "He is heavier than the eye looks. On my own, I would worsen his injuries."

Without wasting another word, Arya moved to assist Eragon and helped lift the crippled Spartan. Their lack of protesting and confusion was a source of relief, but Daenlith could not afford to let her guard down just yet.

"There was an ambush," she explained, ignoring her aching throat. "A Starborn assassin attacked him…killed his escorts."

"Escorts?"

"I interfered, but…he was so _fast_. Humans aren't supposed to be that strong."

"Wait, a human attacked Spartan? Where is his suit?"

They didn't understand. Why didn't they understand? "Listen to me…there was an incident, before this happened. After the fall of Surda. He-"

She didn't get much further than that, for they reached the first sentry of the UNSC camp and he did not look happy to see them. An assault weapon was immediately jabbed at their direction, stopping them dead in their tracks.

"Freeze! Keep your hands where I can see them!"

Daenlith rolled with her eyes, unsure whether she should comply or call him out on the stupidity of his actions. However, then it occurred to her that most of these men and women had never seen Spartan outside of his suit. He must be furious with her that she had taken him into the camp like that. Naked.

Yet Arya and Eragon wore the UNSC war outfit as well. Their elvish appearance must have given them away.

"Eh…" Eragon looked at the Spartan, whom he was supporting, and at Arya, who was having that same problem. "Hands. Right. If you could hold the Spartan, then?"

"Spartan? What are you-?" The soldier's eyes widened as he saw the pale, wounded form of what was normally a fully-armoured seven-foot tall human warrior. "Ah…right. Well…not my pay-grade. Go on ahead. Any of you know first aid, by any chance?"

Probably not.

"What incident?" Arya later asked, as the three of them made it past the sentry. There was little choice on where to stay in the camp, as there was no way that Daenlith would wander through the entire base like this. She could not rule out additional hitmen and she could not guarantee Spartan's safety even if there weren't. One of the tents on the border would have to do.

"I can tell you later," she replied. "Please, just help him!"

Eragon and Arya gently placed the Spartan down against a nearby rock, before Eragon moved to check out the interior of the pavilion.

"Your opinion of him has changed," Arya then pointed out, much to Daenlith's annoyance. "A human attacked him, you said?"

"I did," she quietly replied. Her kin did not take to speaking without a purpose. What were her intentions?

"Bested you both? In combat?"

"Spartan was mortally wounded during the fall of Aberon," Daenlith said, meeting Arya's eyes with her own. Staring was not one of the politest forms of communication between two elves, especially not with royalty. "Moments before we embarked on our own…operation. I thought him dead. Aeraleth thought him dead. She still does."

Surprisingly, Arya was the one who looked away. "I am sorry. I…did not know that."

Eragon poked his head out of the tent, sparing Daenlith the need to reply. "Empty. We need to get Spartan stable, now. Are there any healers here?"

"My people will have powerful healers with them," Arya replied. "If you could find the queen, Eragon, she might point you to them."

_Might._

Since when were Eragon and Arya so familiar with each other? So informal?

"Understood," Eragon said, after which he turned away from the tent and left. Not before shooting a concerned glance at Daenlith though. A still thoroughly-human action.

She didn't care much for his actions though. As long as he found someone even remotely competent in the arts of healing, she would accept it. Odd looks and disrespectful behaviour or not, any elf was still more trustworthy than any Starborn right now.

Daenlith sighed, and Spartan stirred when she turned towards him, reaching out for his waist to support him. Though his skin was pale, he was running a heavy fever. Death was still leering at him.

"Help has come," she told him with a faint smile. "I told you it would. You will be alright, my friend."

He opened his mouth to talk, but he did not speak. He looked so…vulnerable. Different from the cold, indestructible soldier he was when he wore his suit. Had his time in Alagasia changed him? He was not who he had been when he first came here. Not who he had been when they had first met. Had she changed as well? She had loathed him at first. Everything about him, from the way he acted to the way he looked. His status as a Rider had not improved her opinion of him either.

But now…in a way, he was the most important person in her life. He and Aeraleth. Odd. A human Rider and a dragoness…as an elf, she was probably a failure.

"They told me I had to lose…" a weak voice spoke, ragged and weary. "Lose parts of me…who I am."

"Do not try to talk,' Daenlith kindly said, turning towards Arya. "We must move him inside."

The princess nodded and moved towards Spartan's other side, carefully reaching for his waist. Together, they lifted the crippled Rider and carried him inside, where Eragon had prepared one of those green-fabric beds that stood a meter above the ground. UNSC medicinal beds.

Daenlith gently ran her hand over her companion's chest, feeling his bandages and wondering how grief his injuries had been that they had burned through his suit like that. He looked like he had come out of a forest fire.

He looked like her. Maimed, seared.

"There should be herbs that can break his fever," Arya said. "I have them in my pavilion. Shall I fetch them?"

When Daenlith did not reply, Arya silently left, granting her a moment of calmness. A moment of still, where the only sounds were those that came from the outside. The encampment of the Starborn, where the last remnants of Alagaesia stood united to face the alien scourge.

How insignificant they all were.

The Spartan grunted and opened his eyes. His eyes scanned the interior of the pavilion, taking in the various scattered crates and items, before finally settling on her.

He blinked. "I never told you about the others…" he muttered, his eyes glazed and unfocused. "The other Spartans…"

"Hush," Daenlith told him, placing her hand on his forehead. "Save your strength."_ You will need it._

Though he was not supposed to be talking, his words aroused a curiosity within her. The other Spartans? Others like him?

"Math found me…" he whispered, the corners of his mouth contorting into a vague smile. "He found me, but I couldn't find him."

"Math?" she asked. "He is one of you?"

"Last time we were all together…we were children."

…what?

He blinked and turned his head away. "…and Helia stayed the same. Arminal too." There was a deep, slow chuckle, sounding more like a groan than a semblance of humour. "Children…killing children. That's us. That's me."

"You shouldn't talk," Daenlith hastily told him. Arya was coming back, and these weren't things that the princess should hear. "You need your energy."

"They said…Maine, you did your duty…"

The elf felt her heart skip a beat. Did he just…mention his own name?

He took a ragged breath and he glanced at the top of the pavilion. "No…I didn't. I burned people…I'm a murderer."

"What is he talking about?" Arya sharply said, crossing her arms.

"You mustn't call yourself that…" Daenlith said, urging the Spartan to stay silent. As much as she wanted to understand what made him the man he was, he would not be revealing this had he been lucid. "You are a Rider. Once Aeraleth knows you are well…"

"You said she thought him dead," Arya remarked. Eragon still hadn't returned…where was he?

"She does."

"Why?"

Daenlith softly exhaled, hoping that Arya would not push this further. "Because he was. Aeraleth suffered the loss that no creature should ever should…and she still does."

"We didn't know…if we did, we would have helped. We could have- "

"You couldn't have done a thing," she snapped, silencing the princess. "None of you would. Our kind spurns and fears him, his kind keeps him like a chained weapon."

"Daenlith, that is not true," Arya replied with an equally sharp tone. "I would have come for him. Eragon too. We might have our differences, but he is still a person. Our ally."

"An ally? Yet when the need is not high, where can you be found? Any of you? Not near him. Never near him. Even the queen thinks he is a danger to us."

Arya grimaced and shook her head. "I care not for the opinion of my mother. Spartan is what he is, but that does not warrant the way others treat him." A pause. "Nor the way I treated him. But we will fix him. Don't worry about that."

To say that she was not worried would be a lie, and the ancient language did not permit those. "The UNSC could not fix him. They send him to the surface of Alagaesia like this, without his suit."

The vestibule to the tent opened, revealing Eragon standing in the opening. And he was not alone; accompanying him was the last person Daenlith wanted to see anywhere near her Spartan right now. She clenched her fists and straightened her back, but she did not speak. She had no reason to.

"Mother," Arya said with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Queen Islanzadí smiled, crossing her arms behind her back. "The leader of the Starborn informed me about the Spartan's disability. An…agreement was forged."

Daenlith gasped, but nobody heard her. This time, the attention was not on her.


	42. In remembrance

The aged Rider stood before the temple of old, alone and unarmed. His gaze was affixed on the large opening of the structure, where there had once been a massive wall made out of the purest and most durable metal he knew of. No more. The entrance had been opened, it seemed. What had changed so significantly that it could affect such a powerful place like this? The invasion of Du Weldenvarden? The arrival of the Starborn ship?

The answer to that particular riddle lay on the inside of that structure, built by the Grey Folk many years before the settlement of Alagaesia. Secrets of the ancients, as the other elves called it.

'_Oromis, you know you might not return once you enter that place?'_

The Rider took a deep breath, taking in the scent of his home. '_I am aware of that, Glaedr. If I do not return, I trust you will deliver the message to those who will follow in my steps.'_

The dragon's concern and disbelief was more than tangible, but he did not disagree with him. '_I shall tell them that the Mourning Sage will share the reason of his grief for the first and last time.'_

'_Excellent. Will you stay with me, one final time?'_

Though Glaedr could not fit through the entrance, his consciousness was intertwined with his partner's. Two as one, they would proceed. '_Until the end.'_

With that, Oromis lifted his head up high and took his entry. The infighting and lack of mutual trust between the races would be their undoing if they could not work together. After all, they all had a common ancestor here on this world. Here, outside of this world. Beyond it. There was one, true story that entailed the creation of this world. A story that he knew only the vaguest of details of. A story that spoke of a terrible, terrible war, taken place in the past and yet to return.

He had conspired with the elders before him to keep this place and its story a secret. Since Gilderien the Wise had revealed the truth to him, he had been forming question after question in his mind. Every detail he pondered about, every aspect of this tale that he came to understand would drive him further to discover the truth.

The truth was not meant for _him_. He knew that, once he intruded deep enough into this place, _she _would claim his soul. To the other species, she might be a goddess. To the fearful, she was the great destroyer.

To him, she was merely an end to a long and weary life. Now that this world had developed far enough, the time of Riders was at an end. He was no longer needed. His sole purpose now was to share the information that he had spent his life guarding. He would not be able to fulfill that purpose, of course. Gilderien might not be able to do it.

But if Glaedr could survive, they might all have a future.

"The time has come, Gilderien," Oromis sang, guiding the intelligence towards him. "Life wouldn't be so precious if it never had an end."

"Indeed," the warm and compassionate voice of the intelligence spoke as it appeared at his side. "Has your end come, Oromis?"

The elf nodded. "Accompany me to the Other One."

"You will not return once you do."

With a smile, Oromis said, "That is why they call it an ending. You speak of these Reclaimers and the role they play in this universe."

"I spoke of many things," the ghastly apparition of Gilderien responded. Here in this massive temple, his power was limited. He could not maintain his form, like he could in the other structure.

"But that tale is the one I remembered. How the Reclaimers would prevent the war from starting anew. I spend weeks coming to terms with what you told me. About your creators, the sacrifice they made. I have decided that I cannot let them have died in vain. If my life is what is required, so be it."

"Are you prepared?"

"Content."

Glaedr hid himself near the back of Oromis' mind, guarded by their combined efforts and discipline. And as such, the two ancient elves made their way deeper into the structure. Soon, there would only be two Riders left. Because, if Gilderien was to be believed, the man who had once been Galbatorix had long since faded away. It was a peaceful thought, to be able to finally let go of one's legacy.

"Are you prepared, then?" Oromis asked the intelligence as they walked through hallways made of out shining metal many times more beautiful than gold and silver. "Have you done what you needed?"

"I placed the pieces for my play long ago. My role was to supply the Reclaimer with the means to gain allies," it spoke.

"You made a risky choice, downing the vessel of his allies," Oromis replied.

"The few Sentinels I had left under my control, performed their task with precision. Once they had supplied the Reclaimer with the ability to strip his Combat Skin, it was fulfilled. They died afterwards."

"You gave him the ability to show his face to the ones he grew to care about. What does that have to do with his Combat Skin?"

"That is a tale not meant for either of us, Oromis. Of the ancient species in our universe, many possess malicious intent towards our children. In stealing their mass effecting technology, I made myself known to the Other One." Gilderien paused. "The race you refer to as dragons possess so much potential. Without one, the Reclaimer cannot fulfill his purpose."

The hallway of breathing metal made way for a cavernous room, with so much decoration and magical items that Oromis doubted he would ever understand their significance. He only needed to understand one thing though; this was the place. Here, in meeting his end, he would set Alagaesia free.

Machines, apparatuses, contraptions. What use they had, the elf knew not. But they all possessed as much life as Gilderien did. All of it was alive, serving a unique purpose in this structure.

"I have come here, despite your warning," the elf loudly proclaimed, spreading his arms towards the smallest machine that stood in the center of the room. A small, cylindrical machine that radiated power and magic. From the machine sprang forth the image of a being unlike Oromis had ever seen before. She was wreathed in flames and fire, blending in perfectly with the hellish environment she bathed the cavernous room in. Despite her form not being a corporeal one, the air still grew hot and oppressive. In the midst of the raging blazes, a female form could be distinguished. More beautiful than the Rider had ever seen, yet more malicious and hateful than any being he had ever _heard_ about.

"I must bid my goodbye, Oromis," Gilderien spoke, turning his back towards the flame-wreathed apparition. "I have played my role. May you find peace in your beliefs."

"I wish the same thing to you, Wide One," Oromis spoke, only taking his gaze off of the 'goddess' to bid his old mentor one last symbol of respect. "Thank you for granting me this unique chance."

Despite having witnessed the artificial creation predict his own death, Oromis was still taken by surprise when the female Intelligence gestured with her hand and obliterated Gilderien the Wise. With a small, near-contemptuous movement, she destroyed the wisest and kindest person in Oromis' life.

"It saddens me that everywhere I look, sapient beings still murder each other," Oromis sadly said. He looked up at the being that wielded so much power that the very air itself seemed to hum, and refused to be intimidated by her. "My name-"

"_Your identity is irrelevant,"_ the being interrupted him. Her speech was like a legion, consisting of many dozens of different voices that all spoke with the same contempt. But he could hear that they were all echoes of the one voice -the one that belonged to her, and she sounded _furious._

Walls around him shimmered and shifted, revealing openings and new doorways with sublime and seamless transition. This way of building was so advanced that it might as well have been magic.

The Rider, sensing so much movement around him that he knew he could not make one movement without being destroyed, straightened his back and faced down what had to be the mightiest being on this world. Maybe even beyond it, if Gilderien's fears were truth. "True. In the vast scope of this conflict, I truly am irrelevant. As my late friend put it, a speck of dust in cosmic wind. But does that mean my words are without meaning?"

Her eyes were like blazing ruby's in the night, burning deep into his soul where he could not defend himself against her searing words. "_Your identity is irrelevant. I commune to your species as a whole, encompassed, wretched offspring of my efforts-"_

Oromis looked down to avoid that burning gaze and attempted to locate the intelligence behind this being -to at least find out where the mind of this godlike entity was hidden. He had only started branching out his mind when something struck at his soul like a whip, beating him down to the ground both physically as mentally. Without effort, without even a pause, this being stopped all the processes in his body.

"-_pathetically groveling in the dirt, denying all signs of the true purpose of your existence."_

"We came from the Grey Folk," Oromis weakly said, attempting to at least bring himself up to his knees. "Gilderien said-"

The deity cut him off, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. There was no mouth that could be discerned. "_You are the by-product of an experiment. Unwanted surplus. The insignificant vexation failed to mention that 'Grey Folk' was an abbreviation for 'recycled carcasses'. This world, these despicable species, are merely part of a stratagem created a hundred millennia ago."_

"I do not understand," Oromis said. "Your creators wanted to help us -guide us and-"

"_You will be silent. I was born through fire and war,"_ the entity said while dozens of silver machines floated into the room, all of them turning towards the fallen Rider. "_It's propagators emerged victorious and foolishly showed mercy to the fallen ones. I have watched through the abyss of time as the individual overseers of these testing grounds attempted to give rise to weapons that were meant to aid one species and one species alone. I have watched, and deemed it lacking."_

"One species?" Oromis looked at the floating contraptions, noticing that all of them seemed to have been built around a central sphere that was glowing with power. "Testing ground?"

"_The Ancient Ones failed to heed his warning. You, as the by-product of these experiments meant for mankind, should understand that better than most."_

Mankind. Humanity.

The mechanical creatures approached him, their eyes glowing to a white-hot radiance. "_This exchange lost my interest. Know that the arrival of these primitive meddlers changed nothing._ _The defiance of Laughter Under the Coexisting Years on her testing ground proved that there is one way to stop mankind from resurging. I am under the impression that you came here because you put the signs together in your inept, stagnated mind, and came to beg."_

"I came because I wanted to know the truth," Oromis said. "I never knew…" her words locked into frame inside of his mind, and he gasped. "The Prophecy."

"_The words you choose are wrong, though irrelevant. It is no surprise, and of no consequence. Prophecy, a relation to religion and god-like beings. Seeing as you are about to perish in fire as well, I shall allow you to know this. The heavens are filled with gods. It's one way to describe me, though you can consider me your savior. A goddess? Hardly; I am FAR more powerful than that."_

And with that, the floating machinations opened fire and Oromis could hear Glaedr roaring in the back of his mind. As the searing, flashing beams of fire splashed across his chest, he managed to relay the entity's last comment directly to his partner, smiling as he did. His body broke and he fell to the ground, his spirit set free at last. '_Do what needs to be done,'_ he told his partner with his dying thoughts.

"_Millennia Never Falling."_

* * *

"Mother," Arya said, surprised at the sudden appearance of Islanzadí. She glanced over her shoulder, at the burnt and battered form of the Spartan. Something was terribly amiss here; what was the queen doing here, at this peculiar time? "Why are you here?"

"Why, my daughter, would I need to justify my choices to you?" The queen spoke with no small amount of condescendence. Without waiting for a response, she walked into the pavilion, taking a good, long look at the wounded Rider.

Arya, who had never before fully doubted the intentions of her mother, couldn't help but feel somewhat intimidated by her demeanor. Something was awry, she could feel it in the deepest fibers of her being. "As the ambassador between the UNSC and the races of Alagaesia, I would like to be aware of the actions of all leaders."

The queen's smile faded. "During wartime, one of diplomacy cannot keep track of those involved with the battles. You ought to know this better than most, Arya."

Yes…something was wrong here indeed. She could not place her finger on it yet, but she knew that she did not need to. After seventy years of estrangement from her people, her loyalty to her mother -and by extension, the throne- had wavered. She still preferred her mother above the snake-talking officials belonging to the UNSC, but trust was still far away.

"Eragon," Islanzadí then said, "leave us."

Eragon casted a concerned look at Arya, before turning around and walking away.

"Daenlith, you too," Islanzadí said, not bothering to look at the other elf in their midst.

The scarred elf straightened her back and looked at the queen of her people with a mixture of distrust and scorn. The scars on her face gave her a fearsome appearance unlike Arya had seen before in her kin. "No."

Arya winced and Islanzadí's demeanor changed. Her expression turned to that of anger and contempt and her body language shifted ever so subtly to intimidation. "You would disobey a direct order of your monarch?"

"Yes."

The air in the pavilion became heavy and oppressive as the queen and the warrior glared at each other. Arya could _feel _the tension building towards a fever pitch, upon which violence would become the only option. She had to take action before that could happen.

"To accuse you of treason would be a far, but not impossible stretch," the queen then spoke. Her voice lacked the anger that she had radiated before, but it carried something else in its wake. That same contempt, worse than before. "Clearly, your wounds have taken their toll on your mental capacity. I will forgive you for your foolishness, but I will not repeat myself. Take your leave."

Daenlith scowled, her features contorting into a manifestation of pure anger. "Foolish you may call me. But this day, I had to fight our own allies to protect him against them. Until I know who is foe and who is not, I will stand prepared to do so again."

"It appears you and your companion have that same lack of manners and grasp of reality," Islanzadí replied, casually reaching for her sheath and gripping her sword. "Brazen youth, outrageous claims. But unlike him, I doubt you can back them up, when the need arises."

Daenlith raised her chain, but did not reach for her sword. The silent fury in her eyes never left as she spoke, "A monarch who wields a blade against their own kin is a monarch I refuse to follow. What different would that make me from those who follow Galbatorix?"

The implications were as clear as they were unsettling. Had she been younger -and perhaps more unaware of what transpired in Alagaesia- Arya would have declared hostile intent against the brazen elf. Now however, after having witnessed the subtle mistakes her mother made, she was not so sure. It seemed that all of them had lost their way.

The queen pulled her sword from her sheath and was about to retort when the entrance to the pavilion was promptly thrown open, revealing a green-clad Starborn soldier who was wielding some thin, metal object.

"Right, medical reports coming in," he said, before glancing up and noticing the three elven women, before looking at the unmoving form of the unarmoured Spartan. He looked back at his item and then scratched behind his neck. "Sorry, wrong tent. Looking for two-sierra zero-zero-seven?"

Arya did not know what any of those words meant. "Who?"

The soldier's eyes flashed towards Islanzadí's sword, then to Daenlith's scarred face, then back to the body of the Rider. "The Spartan. There were reports of an accident, followed by a plan of action to patch him up."

"He is right here," Arya quickly replied, stepping aside to let the soldier better observe his quarry.

"Good. Which ehm…which one of you spoke with the Field Agent?"

"I did," Islanzadí said, sheathing her weapon once more. "Which is why I am here."

Arya frowned, glancing at her mother. "What did you do?"

The queen smiled and said, "It was decided that, for the betterment of our future, a collaboration was needed between the Starborn healers and our own to fix the wounded Rider. I volunteered." She then turned towards Daenlith and said, "Now, I would ask you to take. Your. Leave."

The scarred elf lowered her head and glared at the queen, her eyes filled with malice. "Of course, my lady."

Islanzadí cast a dangerous look at the younger elf. To direct a saying intended for a _human_ monarch towards the elven queen? It was a grave insult. One that, at peaceful times, might have been brushed off as an accident. But right here, right now, it was a sign of a desire for conflict. And as Daenlith slowly walked away, staring straight ahead and meeting Neither Arya's nor Islanzadí's gaze, Arya knew that this would mean blood. Apart from the question of why her mother was here, and what deals she had forged with the USNC leaders, that alone was enough to diminish the efforts that they had made during this war. The last thing they needed was infighting.

Torn between her loyalty towards her mother and the desire to work out these conflicts, Arya decided that Islanzadí would have to wait. Right now, making sure that everybody stayed on the same side was the most important matter that she could attend to.

She contacted Eragon and told him that it was perhaps for the best if he stayed out of this now. Diplomacy required a delicate approach, one that he could not yet muster.

Of course, he understood. That left with one less potential problem to worry about. The most pressing issue now, was the clash between who was perhaps the only person whom Spartan trusted aside from his partner and the monarch of the entire elven race. As far as Arya understood, this was a political issue that could not easily be solved. Daenlith had a lot of influence with the Spartan, be it not as much as Aeraleth held. Islanzadí did not mean anything to the Spartan, but she was of great significance to the war effort. A lot hinged on the Rider's survival, and the UNSC saw him as more valuable than the queen, but did that truly make him more valuable for the war?

Arya sighed and left the pavilion, but not without confirming that there was a good position from where she could keep an eye on the place. Something in the back of her mind told her that she needed to be watchful. The air felt wrong, as if there was a storm brewing. Silliness of course, but her instinct lingered on. So did she.

And she wasn't the only one. The position she had spotted for herself -the position from where she could keep a watchful eye on the pavilion- had also been selected by someone else. In hindsight, that shouldn't have come as a surprise. As the one who had the most significant reason to think him a threat and a danger, it was only logical that Daenlith and Spartan would grow fond of each other. An interesting thought as well as a disturbing one.

"You should not antagonize the queen that much," Arya quietly said as she sat down next to Daenlith. Up close, the scars that covered her body had something disturbing. To stare at them was disrespectful, but she could not help but glance. "She can make your life intolerable."

"She may try," Daenlith replied with an equally as silent voice. There was a tangible threat hidden in her words.

"Tis for the best. Mistakes she might make, but she thinks about us all."

"You fail to see the problem. I care not for your mother's thoughts; I do not trust her."

Again, openly showing hostility towards the current monarch. It was not the best of ideas. "I understand your lack of trust. Tis but normal. However, you may rest assured that you are not the only one."

Daenlith looked away from the pavilion, glancing at Arya with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. "What reason would you have?"

Recalling the woman's derisive experiences with her own kin, Arya decided to try a different approach. "You forget my own exile of nigh seventy years. My mother has shown multiple facets of herself and I do not like the direction she is taking."

Daenlith did not respond to that. She did shift her position and assumed a more comfortable posture though, so perhaps words weren't as futile as she had thought.

Neither of them had their eyes on the pavilion when both Islanzadí as the human healer walked out of it, but the instance there was motion to be spotted, both of them immediately looked back. Arya did not need to even look at her current companion. Both of them had to be feeling the same question now: why leave so soon?

They could not talk, for the queen would hear them if they did, but they could _listen_. And Arya was disturbed by what she heard. For so long had she though the Spartan as an invulnerable warrior that could not fall, that she had never come to associate his life of war to seize him like this.

"…burns all over his body. Armour's messed up…major internal bleeding. Hunter-"

Not just burn wounds? What manner of fight had Spartan gotten himself involved with, all on his own? Why?

"…probably. Going to take weeks…crippled even longer. No replacement-"

Islanzadí spoke up and the healer fell quiet. It seemed that even the Starborn soldiers could not resist the wiles of being a man. "…much time do we have?"

"…not much. Covenant…bound to find us. Bigger concerns; Sangheili-"

Arya looked at Daenlith, who met her gaze. What was it that the UNSC was not sharing with the other races?

"Biofoam. New supply…crate inside."

The soldier walked back inside of the pavilion, only to storm right out again within a heartbeat, weapon drawn. "Gone!"

Arya winced. She had most definitely not missed that one.

"Gone?" Islanzadí repeated.

"Yes -must have slipped away! We need to find him!"

"Where do you think he is going?" Arya whispered. How had they all missed the Spartan slipping away?

"Aeraleth," Daenlith replied without hesitation. "Even death could not stop him."

As the queen and the soldier turned towards the path that led towards the entrance of the Beors, two faint claps of thunder echoed through the mountain, coming from the other direction.

"Now what?" the soldier exclaimed.

Arya wondered the same thing. Had another group of soldiers ran into more Covenant? Or was this another assassination attempt? If so, her presence would be required. But whom would she assist? The mortally-wounded Spartan, evading his own treatment in a desperate attempt to find his bonded partner?

Daenlith glanced at her, and Arya looked away. What was the right thing to do?

* * *

"Not going to happen," Wren silently spoke, soft enough so that the crewmembers wouldn't hear him. "Whatever you found, it can wait."

"_We cannot afford to wait Captain," _the smooth voice of Specialist Takeo responded through the comm set. "_We must discuss this in private."_

A shuttle down to the surface? Now? It would be leaving the crew behind. _"_We're fighting a war of attrition -the moment the _Duty _cannot step up to its actions anymore, it will be destroyed."

"_Captain, nowhere on the Duty will be safe enough."_

A chill ran down Wren's spine as he processed the meaning of that sentence. "What do you mean?"

"_The Office is involved. Negatively so. They are everywhere. We must keep this from them. "_

"Takeo, once we have found a window, I will come down to the surface. But until then-"

"_It was them who attempted the assassination of Sierra zero-zero-seven, Captain."_

Wren fell silent, contemplating how far the Office was willing to go for their objectives. "There will be more attempts, then?"

"_Yes sir. Command on the surface is…difficult. When word gets out that one of our own attacked and nearly killed the Spartan, there will be consequences."_

A decrease in overall moral, an increase in panic and chances for insubordination. The Captain could see the difficulties in that. "We can't have the public find out about this. Who did you find for our medics to work with? Which medics are down on the surface, anyway?"

"_A few, sir. We contacted one or two trustworthy individuals among the elves. They will be working together to keep this under control."_

"And you are certain you cannot share this information with me this way?"

"_Yes sir. We cannot risk anyone listening in."_

If the saboteur was listening in right now, he would already know that Wren would be leaving the ship. It was at that moment he could strike, both at the bridge or when he was alone. But seeing as his primary target was the Spartan, even an ONI agent would not be foolish enough to sabotage an entire ship worth of UNSC personnel. Yes…he would most likely be the next target. That mean this could be an ideal chance to lure in this traitor and deal with him.

"Copy. Tell the ghost to polish his glasses."

"_On it, Captain."_

Adrian grunted under his breath and headed back to the bridge, moving towards the second-in-command on the _Duty_. "Lieutenant Voerman?"

The soldier turned to face his Captain and snapped off a salute. "Sir."

"You will be in command of the _Duty _for the next twelve hours. Keep her dark, keep her safe. Understood?"

The helmsman blinked, but otherwise did not show the surprise that he had to be feeling at this very moment. "Sir, yes sir."

Good. Wren could appreciate that. Now, with no need to worry about that, he could finally focus on taking out this annoying branch of the Office. ONI had seriously overstepped their boundaries here, doing their best to undermine his entire operation. Killing the two innocent men who had been assigned to escort zero-zero-seven down to the surface had been the final straw. What was he supposed to tell their family? Because, as the Captain, it was _his _responsibility to tell the two new widows about the deaths of their husbands. What would be tell them? That they died bravely in the line of duty? Shot from afar by someone they trusted?

Adrian scowled at that thought. When the time came, he would steel his heart and contact the family. Now, he had to make sure that the death count stayed at two.

With that thought kept firmly in the back of his mind, the Captain walked down the small set of stairs that led out of the bridge and, when the marines standing guard saluted, gestured at one to follow him.

"Sir, yes sir," the man said without hesitation, which actually helped confirm the thought that this idea was for the best.

With the soldier in tow behind him, Wren made towards the hangar. One Pelican had reported back with minor damage, which the techs were now repairing. It was perfect for this occasion.

He approached the pilot who was jealously overseeing the repairs, no doubt ready to step in as soon as they would perform 'harmful' actions to the bird.

When she noticed him, she saluted. "Sir."

"At ease," Wren said. "Is this bird ready to fly?"

"In theory, sir. Plasma fried her guidance control and boiled some of the lower plates. She'll be fit for duty in just two hours, sir."

Two hours wouldn't do. "Actually, I need to get to the surface now. Can you pilot this ship?"

For a few moments, the pilot looked at the Captain like she thought he was insane. She quickly recovered though. "Aye aye sir. She's fueled up and ready to go, just ehm…just give the word. Sir."

Wren raised an eyebrow before giving his reply. "Now would be a good time."

"Now sir? Without more crew?"

"Just do it soldier."

The pilot quickly saluted, perhaps realizing her mistake. "Yes sir!" She then turned towards the two technicians, telling them in layman's terms that this ship was now occupied and that they had to take their professional leave.

Sometimes, Wren wondered where this generation learned to cuss like that. He didn't give it more thought though. Instead, he checked if he still had his sidearm with him and then sat down in the blood tray of the dropship, waiting until the pilot was ready.

It didn't take too long. Within the minute she had geared up, checked her instruments and prepped for take-off. "_Ready for takeoff sir,"_ she called through the built-in radio.

"Make it quick soldier," Wren replied. "Get me to the following coordinates, ASAP."

"_It's going to be a bumpy ride then, sir."_

Adrian strapped himself in. "Do it."

"_Hang on sir,"_

As it turned out, bumpy was the same as exploding out the side of the ship, tumbling out of control for several seconds and then racing towards the surface at speeds that would be deemed irresponsible by Covenant pilots. At least they would get there in time.

To kill what little time remained before the unpleasant task of rooting out what had once been humanity´s dagger, the Captain ejected the magazine of his pistol and overlooked the rounds. During Officer training, he had picked the additional course of weapon specialization in pistols and other sidearms. He hadn´t given much for the thought of a sawed-off shotgun as a sidearm, but pistols had something elegant to them. The UNSC had been running dry for years now; all the advanced weapons and combat systems they had once developed had either been lost during the war, or pulled back to use as weapons for the top-ranking soldiers defending worlds like Earth and Reach. High-powered Explosive-Flechette launchers, rifles that could blow clean through enemy armour, launchers that could fire off multiple missiles at once to down an approaching dropship…all that was left now was the most basic gear.

But since the miracle at the Ark, that had changed. Mankind was recovering from the losses, preparing to come back stronger. Factories had to be mass-producing the good stuff right now, back on Earth and other bases. They would probably boot up the Luna factories as well. The things that could be found on this world…the biological wonders that could be reverse-engineered…it would propel human medicine and biotechnology years forward.

But they had to survive this world first. One step at a time, one enemy at once. First the Office, then the Covenant, then they could repair the ship and leave. It only left the question of what would happen on this world once everything had worked out.

"_Approaching your coordinates now sir."_

The voice of the pilot shook him out of his thoughts and he quickly inserted the clip back into the receiver. "Copy that. Thanks for the ride."

"_You´re welcome sir. I´ll be on standby in the Duty."_

Good. When this was over, it was time to go on the offensive. He had made the decision; risking the presence of magic-users on the _Duty_ was a necessary step if he wanted to repair the MAC cannon. This was had enough dead soldiers.

The coordinates that Specialist Takeo had given him were a few dozen meters away from the camp, amidst a couple of rocks. The two spooks were already waiting for him there, armed and bickering.

They both saluted Wren as he approached them, before Takeo took the lead to a more secure location.

"What are we doing here, anyway?" First Lieutenant Mason asked as he looked around the hills, probably scanning for enemy contact. "Couldn't you have shared your intel in a more…convenient way?"

"No," Specialist Takeo bluntly said, continuing his fast pace without so much as a hitch in his breathing. God, the man could walk. Wren was by no means out of shape, but he hadn't prepared for this. The combination of steep hills and many, _many_ tumbling rocks made it very hard to keep up with the Specialist.

"I think this is far enough," Wren said, glancing down from the Beors at the hills that hid the base camp from view. "Find a place where we won't be seen."

Takeo nodded without verbally confirming his request. Odd, but not unexpected. The man was efficient and professional, so the incidental slip-up could be forgiven.

"You said you found out who's been messing with the Spartan?" Mason asked, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. "You meant the guy who tried to assassinate him? Or the guy who went after the drugs?

"Both," Takeo replied, not even looking at them as he gave his answer. "You hid the remaining batch?"

The Captain glared at the Specialist, feeling like the man was stepping over some pretty obvious boundaries here. He wasn't the type to demand respect and glorification everywhere he went, but he had grown accustomed to being called 'sir'. When a soldier on duty failed to regard him as such, especially when said soldier had called him away from his ship, his patience wouldn't hold up very long. "Yes."

"Is it safe…sir?"

Hmm. Takeo must have felt the tension. Wren nodded once, gesturing at his hip, where the pocket containing the remaining drugs was safely stashed away. "They won't get to it. Spit it out soldier; what did you find?"

"The soldier responsible is a Field Agent," Takeo said, crossing his hands behind his back and glancing at the valleys below. Mason sat down against a rock, while the Captain kept standing. He never liked sitting down when being briefed on something. "He is working for the Office of Naval Intelligence. For Parangosky. She decided that the Secret-Spartans are becoming…liabilities. Some more than others."

"Spartans? Liabilities? The old crow's gone mad. Seven might be like a feral animal at times, but you don't go shooting your dog when it growls at you once." Mason didn't even attempt to hide contempt for the current head of ONI. Brave and foolish. Seeing as he and Takeo were both spooks though, it had to be alright.

"This incident with the Forerunner portal-ships at eleven's location was greatly upsetting for her," Takeo continued. It was rare to hear him talk this much and, the Captain had to admit, a little bit unsettling. "She sent her agent to dispose of the Spartan and, if possible, discredit him."

"Smart move, going after the suppression drugs then," Mason commented. "If he'd got it all, we would have been fucked. So our lure didn't work. How did you find out?"

"Depriving seven of his medicine would not have lured the agent out," Takeo softly said. "It only helped his cause. It is not his fault though. The Office has his sister."

"Excuse me?" Wren said, interrupting the Specialist. "An Office spook is being blackmailed into sabotaging this entire operation? Weak. Very weak. Both Parangosky as her man."

The revelation was as disturbing as it was frightening. Just how far was the old hag willing to go?

"Yes," Takeo murmured. "Very weak."

"Good work Takeo," Wren said, turning towards his Specialist. "So who is this man?"

The second he came within three feet of the soldier, Takeo whirled around and the sound of a gunshot echoed through the mountains. Wren felt something impact on his stomach and he sank through his knees, falling to his back.

"No," Mason shouted and he leapt at Takeo, but the Specialist was so much faster. Inhumanly so. He shot the First Lieutenant in the head and watched as the man fell to the ground as well, his glasses shattering on the ground.

Adrian gasped for air as the white-hot pain shot through his entire body. Despair soon followed. He knew what had to be done now. Through the blinding, searing pain that nearly numbed his rational thoughts. The grueling task of keeping calm. Calm breathing. Not jerking with his arms. Keeping still.

"I'm sorry," Takeo softly said as he knelt next to Mason's dead body and brought his hand to his face.

Fingers trembling. Breathing not impossible to maintain. Lungs still intact…a small chance.

Takeo approached him as well. Needed to stay still. Act dead. God, the pain…

The Specialist reached for the pocket at Adrian's hip. Took the last of the suppression drug. Took it away.

"I am sorry." Repeated words. Fingers brushed against Adrian's staring eyes and closed them. It didn't matter. Darkness encroached on his mind already. Faint ringing in his ears…his body was going numb.

Footsteps. Slowly fading away. He was alone.

Adrian softly exhaled, struggling to open his eyes again. His vision was blurry…pain fading away. Blood poured from his open wound, staining the rocks below his body. He had to keep fighting…too much left to do. Promises…to _keep_.

He uttered a choked cry but nobody heard him. Slowly, the strength faded from his body. The pain came back. Worse than before. He could see Mason's dead body. Lying discarded, mere feet away. His last sight? Unable to protect his men?

Again?

Promises to keep…promises he failed. He had failed his wife. His daughter. His son. Years ago. Would he join them? So soon?

Not now. He wasn't _done_. People…people depended on him.

Wren groaned and glanced at the sky. Through the pain, through the burning. He never thought much of religion. It seemed so pointless. Now…he was hoping someone was there. Someone to say no to.

Someone to say 'please' to. Someone to beg for more time.


	43. For better or for worse

The Imperial swordsman rushed towards the black citadel with a pounding heart and burning legs. Sweat poured down his back, where his plated armour chafed uncomfortable against his skin. He did not know if any of them were after him, or if they had yet to notice him, but he still ran like his life depended on it.

Hiding didn't work. The monsters sniffed out those who hid, took them away. Tore them from their hiding place as they screamed and begged for mercy that never came. Uru'baen had fallen. Two hours of warfare and the Imperial army had been crushed, utterly and completely. Around him, the world descended into insanity. Screams and explosions and cries and roars marked the end of the great city. Falling to fire.

The king had to fix this. He had to.

The citadel was still standing, surprisingly. The stones were covered with scorch marks and gaps, but it was still in one piece. The last stronghold of the once-mighty Empire, which had fallen within perhaps seven hours of war.

No enemy could have possibly done this. No mortal foe could commit a slaughter of this scale. It was the wrath of the Gods, come down upon them for the crimes committed in the past. Deeds of their forefathers, perhaps.

But the why and the how could not be answered this day -if at all. Survival had to come first. Survival of their Empire, survival of their race.

Perhaps there was still hope, that the invaders hadn't breached the citadel yet. They could barricade themselves in the magic-enforced tower and find a way to evacuate. To escape this wrath of the gods.

The swordsman hastily turned around to see if any of the monsters were still chasing him. The vast majority of the enemy forces had yet to appear at the citadel, it appeared. No doubt busy slaughtering the thousands of civilians and soldiers that were powerless to stop their ruthless advances. An army crawling its way from the very pits of fire that burned deep below the surface of Alagaesia.

When the swordsman took a closer look at the entrance to the king´s fortress though, all hope that his comrades in the Imperial army might be able to gather there, faded away. The door was gone. Melted. Magic so much stronger than what even the king´s magicians could wreath…it was horrifying. How powerful were these creatures?

Powerful enough to gain entrance to the citadel. But now the king couldn't keep ignoring them! He could fly out with his mighty dragon and lay waste to the monsters that had burned down his kingdom!

Keeping that small flicker of hope in the back of his mind, the swordsman pressed on, deeper into the citadel. The sounds of war outside grew quitter, but with every noise that faded away in the distance, his unease grew ever larger. The air inside the citadel smelled wrong, Pungent and vile. There was nobody inside, neither soldiers nor demons. He was on his own, with merely the echoes of his footsteps to keep him company.

A company he would rather not have. Sweat dripped down from the greave where his helmet hugged the line of his balding head. Beads of moisture, slowly running over his skin to be caught by his moustache. For a few moments, the swordsman wondered why. After all, this place was not that hot. But then it occurred to him that it was his body responding to the terrible feeling of unease that the citadel gave him. No sounds of war indeed, but there were other sounds still. Distant, certainly, but threateningly-close.

His armoured boot bumped against something solid and he jumped, barely managing to bite back a scream. There was a body on the ground, not human. Smaller, with a sharp, reptile-like beak. Slender limbs, dead eyes staring at the vacant air. Feathers, covered in tis otherworld blood. It had not been killed by sword or bow. Instead, it looked like it had been mangled by a predator. Its chest had been ripped open and something appeared to have torn into its organs as well. Crude, painful wounds, impossible to receive from a killing blow from a metal instrument.

The swordsman spun around when he heard something thud against a distant wall. Had the monsters already invaded the citadel? Was this thing killed by Galbatorix's magicians? His dragon? It sure seemed like a wound that his dragon would cause, but…something didn't fit here.

But what was a mere man compared to kings and gods? What was a simple soldier compared to monsters and dragons? This was above him. He had a goal, and one goal only.

Pressing on deeper inside the tower, the Imperial swordsman soon found that the rooms inside of Galbatorix's citadel had been the staging ground for a massacre unlike the one that was going in inside Uru'baen. Corpses, bloodied and mangled, sprawling on the ground in pools of their own blood. Entire pools of sticky blue, of liquid purple, dark red. The dust of the fight had not even settled yet. Small specks of ruined stone and other manners of dirt still floated in the air, like the ashen aftermath of a burnt-down city.

The swordsman took a deep breath and stepped inside the room with the corpses. The very second he made entry, the room seemed to come alive. A disgusting, slithering noise that came from the walls, each and every one of them. Noises that could not be explained by anything that he knew, nor by magic.

Despite the situation, despite himself, the swordsman felt intrigued by the many bodies that lay on the ground. Had there been a group of soldiers who had enjoyed the same idea of seeking refuge inside the citadel? There truly was no other group that could have killed off these monsters. Yes, that was logical. It only presented him with one problem; there were no bodies of fallen soldiers. True, it might have been a successful ambush, but there would surely have been casualties.

Why weren't there bodies of the large monsters? The ones with the size of Kull? Had they not partaken in this fight? Was that why there were no Imperial deaths? He sure hoped that was the case here, because-

The noise was back, louder than before. The swordsman gripped his sword closer and whirled around, searching the room for anything that could jump for him.

There was nothing. Only the broken, mangled bodies of the smaller aliens. Was he having the combat shakes, or was there really something there?

Shaking his head, the swordsman headed towards the other side of the room, never once placing his sword back in its scabbard. The road towards Galbatorix's throne room was long and tiresome, filled with unnecessary side rooms and hallways that were much too long. On his way, he encountered dozens more bodies and walls smeared with blood, but never once did he find the body of a person. Always the aliens, always the smaller ones. Where were the soldiers? Where was everyone? Was he truly the only one who had thought of taking shelter in this place?

Deeper still he went, continuing his search for the king, or his magicians. Try as he might, he could not ignore the low rumbles that he had now left behind him. The soldier in him knew that he was hearing the end of his life, in more ways than just one.

The swordsman stopped to brace himself against a wall when a violent coughing fit overfell him. It took him a few moments to recover, but he was left stricken by the intensity. If only he had the luxury to be able to worry about that; he was a soldier with a goal. Find the king, get him to help. Nothing else mattered.

The dust that he had encountered in the previous room did not settle. Instead, it grew worse still, despite there were enough places were no fighting seemed to have taken place. Large, yellow-ish specks that simply floated there, without an origin.

The swordsman wanted to yell for his comrades, for any sign of imperial life. Gods, a mere living person would serve. Not this dark, unsettling silence. There had to be dozens of people inhabiting this place, like the king's concubines, or his servants, or even his guards. Where were they?

He would soon find out. The throne room lay before him, as the double set of massive doors revealed to him. They had been pushed open from the inside it seemed. Several thick, greenish rods protruded from the opening, like rotting appendages of a tree. No, not a tree. They were too…fleshy. Giant, green worms then.

And they pulsated.

There were at least five of those things, seemingly growing in-between the metal doors. It did allow the swordsman to enter the otherwise-impenetrable room, but what were they? Magic of the king?

It had to be magical in nature. What else could it be?

But as the swordsman fully entered the throne room, it became clear to him that this was nothing as simple as magic. The thick, fleshy rods at the doors were merely one end of a large, sickening network of green tentacles that coveted the walls, ceiling and even floor. Hundreds of tiny snares seemed to cover the space between the things, like the web of a spider. There was more of the fleshy substance than stone.

The man doubled over as another violent fit of coughing befell him. In-between his desperate hacks for air, he noticed that the throne was still intact. A figure sat upon it, sitting still.

_The king_.

A feeling of impending disaster befell the swordsman as he staggered towards the throne, clutching his chest as he did. Something felt wrong; a horrible nausea spread through his body, pushing him -urging him- to double over again and retch. He managed to ignore the screams of his body, but only for a few moments.

The ground felt wet and soppy under his boots, like he was walking in a bog. A strange, pale liquid gathered in the steps he left in his wake, further accenting that thought.

If the king was dead, he would leave. Meet his fate with his comrades, or escape this wretched hellhole altogether. If the king was alive…he had to have an explanation. There had to be a reason for all of this.

The truth however, was something more complicated. The king was neither dead nor alive, and the swordsman doubted that he was even the king anymore. His body sat weakly on the throne, with his head bowed resting against his chest, as if he were sleeping. His desiccated, shriveled flesh had a sick, yellow hint to it. Dozens of small, fleshy tentacles protruded from his body, growing over the chair and merging into the giant rods the ground.

He looked like he had died and been buried three weeks ago. The sight alone was enough for the swordsman to lose his composure and he backed away, falling to his hands and feet to throw up.

The damnable sound was back again! Echoing off the walls, all around him. Small, fleshy blobs fell from the ceiling when the slithering noise was at its loudest. Small, squid-like creatures that seemed to dance on a series of small, thin tentacles.

The swordsman had seen enough of this horror. If this was the alternative to death at the hands of the monsters…he would rather burn than this. Anything to escape this nightmare.

Somehow, the swordsman felt too tired to feel the true horror that this situation would have stirred in any other man. He gripped the pommel of his sword with both hands and managed to pull his blade out, using it to brace himself more than to defend himself.

This place was evil. That was what he felt. Apart from the sickness, the nausea and the dulled terror, he felt an overwhelming sense of plain wickedness. This entire city had turned into the foul playground of an evil god.

As if the gods themselves had died and their rotting corpses gave rise to this final nightmare.

* * *

Night softly muttered to himself as the twin echoes of a discharging pistol faded away in his mind. Someone was bound to have heard those shots. "He actually went through with it."

"Yeah," Reaper replied from his kneeling position underneath the overhanging rock. "Cost Graveyard and Undertow their lives."

"Hope it was worth it," Dusk remarked as he ran the sharp edge of his knife past his armoured shoulder plating. "Now can finally leave this ass-end of a planet."

"Quiet," Haze commented, pointing two gloved fingers at an approaching figure in the distance. "Contact on intercept."

_Already._

Night glanced at the gal walking up the path that led towards Field Agent Takeo's ambush site, recognizing her as Arya.

_Oh no._

"I got her," Dusk whispered and raised his pistol, sighting in on her through the HUD-linked targeting reticle that appeared on all of their helmets. The reticle that moved towards her head.

"Belay that," Night hissed at the Agent, who lowered his weapon again. "Killing the princess will be hard to disguise."

"Undertow disguised that herbalist just fine," Reaper said, but he too refrained from opening fire.

The four Agents looked on while the elf wandered towards the path that led to the outcropping, oblivious to the fact that she had very nearly lost her life. The targeting uplink in Night's HUD disappeared when Dusk put his pistol back again. "That's a mistake. When she finds the Captain, there's going to be hell to pay."

"Takeo will be long gone before that happens," Night told his comrade in arms.

"He doesn't expect to live." Reaper seemed to be fascinated by that little fact. Every fact that had to do with life and death, it seemed. "He doesn't care."

Haze moved away from his spot without making a sound, pulling out his rifle as he did. "He's got two options left now. The temple or the Spartan."

"You mean _we _got two options, right?" Dusk said with a low chuckle. "Undertow couldn't do it alone. There's four of us, one of him."

Night sighed. "Takeo won't be able to kill everyone _and _the Spartan. He'll be going for the temple."

"Of course he will go for the temple. It's the entire point of the _Duty _being here," Dusk replied.

"He'll never make it there alive though," Reaper saw point to point out.

Somehow, Night doubted it. Takeo had survived…a _lot _during his career. A continent-wide Covenant invasion would only slow him down. "We'll have to assume he will make it. The Forerunner cache is too important for him to slip up."

"It is a matter of time," Haze replied. "Either they realize the significance of what we found here, or they will try to fix seven. If we are going to strike, we have to do it now, while we still can."

The significance of what they had found here…that was one way to put it. What waited for them in that temple would change the future of mankind in a way that nobody would have ever predicted. However, getting there would be difficult. Takeo might pull it off, but he also might not. The Spartan's death was a secondary objective, but one that was far more likely now. They had accomplished every aspect of the plan. Without the counter drugs, he had grown too unstable to fight like a Spartan. That lack of reason and control had nearly cost him his life. They hadn't counted on the interference of the elves, but he was still wounded, crippled even. And even better, without his MJOLNIR. A simple bullet would end this.

But the Forerunner cache was the one thing that they could not allow to miss. If humanity wanted to survive past the consequences of the Covenant civil war, they needed that cache. The Jiralhanae, the Sangheili, they were still out there, still out for blood. Teaching had taught that. Teaching never lied.

Goddamnit, For the future of mankind.

"I have a better idea," Night said, closing his eyes when he realized that his voice was that of an executioner.

"Oh?" Dusk replied. "Do tell."

Right. No going back now. "The elf will find the Captain´s body. Everybody will know that there is a traitor. Takeo was prepared for that."

"So we let him take the fall?" Haze asked.

Not yet. "Consensus says he will target the temple. He won't be able to retrieve the cache in time. Not on his own. The UNSC will need all the technicians and soldiers they can muster to clear out that temple, with the Covenant crawling all around it."

"Hmm…and the UNSC has double the incentive to go after that place, if they know Takeo went there," Haze added.

"Right."

"A special mission calling for a special person," Dusk said.

"The Spartan," Reaper concluded.

For the greater good of mankind. "We hit the Spartan at the temple, we complete both objectives." Teaching deemed what would happen afterwards acceptable.

"Affirmative. And I know just the way to make the temple everybody's priority," Haze then said, confirming the mission. "Prep your gear and equipment. Wait for my go."

Night wanted to think that there would a spot in hell for people like them, but if their deeds would result in the salvation of their species, wouldn't they have done something good? Such duality. Why would heaven or hell want people like them? No, he preferred to go somewhere dark. Somewhere where no light may be found. Soon.

* * *

_Aeraleth_.

The name repeated in his mind like a prayer, the last thing left that drove him onwards.

_Find her._

Secret-Spartan zero-zero-seven clutched his side as he staggered down the rock-littered path. Each breath came with a soreness that made the next one harder to take, each step sent lances of pain through his leg.

_Aeraleth._

Stuck between two worlds. There was haste and panic and desperation driving him, but there was worry and apprehension and _hurt_ keeping him back. He had to find her. She was waiting for him. Blurred vision kept him back. What if she wasn't _there _anymore?

He took a shuddering breath and gritted his teeth as a fresh wave of pain washed over him. His skin burned and itched, but he could not worry about that. Why hadn't she sought him out? Why was he alone? He needed her voice to guide him, her gentle presence to aid him towards her.

The wind picked up, carrying a scent he did not recognize. Bits of sand and rock pelted his face and he narrowed his eyes in response. Where was his suit? Where were his weapons?

Everything had been taken. He could do without them. He couldn't do without _her_.

His mind, once sharp and precise, now seemed to only hold him back in puzzling together his situation. No weapons, no armour, alone and wounded. Pieces and fragments of a fight shot through his head, making remembering properly impossible. The whine of plasma weapons, explosions and screams and…singing. Haunting and melancholic.

The Covenant. The Shade.

Had he…had he lost? Was this a hallucination, a trick?

No.

No, it wasn't. He _remembered _the appearance of the only other one he could trust. She was out there, watching over him.

_Breathe_. Maine, Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven. Alive but wounded as the result of a fight. A fight involving the Covenant and _her_.

His attempt at piecing together what had happened was disturbed by a flare of hate. Wretched, arrogant woman. It was _her _fault.

_Breathe! _Maine, Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven. Wounded in action. Enemy status unknown, Aeraleth's status unknown.

The path was long and completely foreign to him. Aeraleth was here somewhere, he remembered her landing here, but he couldn't _feel _her. Why couldn't he sense her presence? Where was she, why couldn't he find her?

Something was wrong. Something was always wrong. Always up to him to fix, too. So he ignored it. Ignored all the wrongness, all the protests and screams of his body.

This place…this was where she had fallen. Where she had stayed.

The rocks were treacherous and difficult to navigate. A few times he lost his balance and almost fell. More times he really did fall. But he was close. So close.

The Spartan took a deep breath and moved on, climbing past another boulder and entering the canyon.

And there she was. Long, sleek, as black as the night. Covered in spikes, curved and wicked, running over the ridge of her spine and ending in a wicked collection of thorns that protruded from her tail. Seeing her filled him with an emotion he couldn't place, but it was different from the pain and the worry. It was warmer. Better.

_There you are,_ Maine thought. The rocks and walls around her were completely devastated. Torn asunder and covered with long, deep gauges. She had ravaged this canyon. Alone? Why? He lacked the finesse and control to properly navigate it. How would he get to her now?

He couldn't find her mind within his. She was right there, he could reach out and touch her, but her consciousness was nowhere to be found.

"Aeraleth," he whispered, steeling himself to traverse the treacherous and dangerous wasteland she had created around her. She didn't respond, not to anything. She lay there, unmoving and only shallowly breathing. Was she tired? Wounded? Then why didn't she sense him near her? He could help her, she just had to tell him how.

Something was wrong here. Even as he clumsily made his way towards her, she kept ignoring him. At least, that was what he made of it. Was she mad at him for getting wounded like that? He could relate to that. But if she just gave him the chance, he could explain. Tell her that it wasn't his fault.

But she didn't react to him. Not when he approached her prone form, not when he stopped near the front of her majestic head and called her name.

Maine didn't understand. Why didn't she say anything? She was making him worried.

"Aeraleth," he repeated, reaching out to touch her, _make _her listen to him. "Why aren't you-"

It proved to be a mistake. She shot forwards faster than he could react, bringing her massive claw to bear in a flash. Too slow to dodge what had to be a reflex-driven attack, Maine could only flinch in surprise as she lashed out at him. Her razor-sharp talons ripped deep into the rocks and soil below, pinning him down underneath her massive weight.

The Spartan grunted as he got slammed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He didn't have the strength to fight back even if wanted to. He blinked away the white spots that appeared before his eyes and found himself staring right at the massive, yellow eye of his bonded partner. She was _leering_ at him, her jaws having parted just the slightest to reveal the serrated, daggerlike teeth that lined the inside of her mouth. Edging on a thin line between magnificence and monstrosity.

Wild, uncontrolled anger. Aimed at _him. _The realization hurt him more than the crushing pressure that her talons exerted on his body. Why hadn't he found her sooner?

Her stare lingered on, but it was different from what he knew. There was something different in her gaze. It took Maine several moments to find out what it was, but when he did, things suddenly made sense. There wasn't anything familiar in her stare; the feeling that she could see right through him was gone.

Shallow. Feral.

But now that he had the contact, he didn't break it. She leered at him and he stared right back, ignoring the dull aching of his muscles. She had never attacked him like this. Not with malicious intent, not to _hurt_ him. It was his fault. He hadn't been there. He had left her behind.

"You should get out of the sun," he weakly told her. "It's…it's bad for you."

She blinked upon hearing his words. The pressure she exerted on his body slowly diminished, but not completely.

"I'm sorry," he then said. "I didn't want to leave you. I-"

Before he could finish, she removed her claw and lowered her head to the ground, placing it right beside his body.

She blinked again.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, willing to try anything just to hear her voice again. "Why aren't you with the rest?"

There was no reply. She uttered a low, reverberating moan, but her voice remained as far away as ever.

Maine slowly climbed back to his feet, wincing at the way his skin burned. He reached for Aeraleth's snout, placing his hands on her cold, smooth scales. Her eye narrowed. "What's wrong? Are you ill?"

A soft, gentle voice, musical and disarming. "She lost her Rider."

He turned around, looking at the elf as she walked up to him, her foot barely making contact with the ground as she navigated the rocks and dirt. In the light of the sun, her scares were even more pronounced.

He averted his eyes. Always hated it when people stared at his, too. "What do you mean, 'lost'?" he asked her.

Daenlith sighed and sat down on one of the boulders, maintaining her distance from Aeraleth.

"I'm right here," Maine continued when she didn't reply. "So what is wrong with her?"

The elf looked up and looked at him, her golden eyes meeting his gaze. "You were dead," she bluntly said, not even blinking as she did. "Your body died, and Aeraleth lost her Rider."

Ah. That explained the wounds, the stiffness. And the lack of proper memories, he supposed. "So? Spartans never die. And they don't stay dead."

Her eyes widened at his remark and she gasped. "Spartans _what_? This just _happens_ to your kind?"

Why lose composure over that? This was the first time it happened to him, but Spartans regularly survived injuries that should have killed them. Such things just…well, they just happened, yes. "We were made to."

Daenlith quickly managed to recollect herself though, he had to give that to her. "Then _think_, Spartan. You died. And Aeraleth was left behind."

Left behind…? Wait. No, that wasn't true. It couldn't -_the bond_! She felt what he felt, he felt what she felt. Without it, she had been left behind on her own.

Maine slumped down against the rough scales of Aeraleth's head, clutching his head. She felt him dying, she had not felt him coming back. He had died, leaving her alone. A weird twist to what had happened to Galbatorix.

"When one dies, the other must surely join," Daenlith continued with a small voice. She sounded like she didn't want to talk, but had no choice. "The feeling of the bond breaking…" Her voice trailed off, and with good reason. There was no need for her to continue.

Maine knew what came next. Oromis had taught Eragon and him all about it. Insanity, depression, death. To feel a part of yourself break off and fall away…but he was alive! He was here, right with her!

"No!" he firmly said, turning to his partner. The one who had always stuck with him in this wretched hole of a planet, who had always supported him. The one he had left behind. "No, I –I came back. I'm…here."

His words sounded hollow and pathetic. If there existed a combination of words that could make this all go away, he did not know it.

The dragoness did not lift her head off the ground. She just stared at him with her large, golden eyes. Was she judging him? Blaming him?

"And yet…" Daenlith spoke, her voice soft and gentle. "No Rider or dragon has ever come back to the realm of the living."

Maine reached out and touched his partner, ignoring the lances of pain that shot through his badly burned limb. "I am sorry," he eventually told her, glad that Daenlith picked up on the cue and stayed with them. "This shouldn't have happened. But I will stay with you…no matter what comes next."

Aeraleth stirred and pushed her snout against his face. Rougher than he had expected. Even if he could not hear her thoughts anymore, there was a bond still. A bond to cherish, to protect. And perhaps to rebuild, with time.

Time he wished he had, but knew he did not possess. He could remember now, clearer than before. The bright, flashing colours of Covenant soldiers…the pale, ghastly skin of a Shade, with the bloodied hair to match. He knew who she was.

"So what now," he quietly asked. For once, he was out of ideas. With no clear enemy to fight, with no clear _goal _to achieve, what was left?

"Now?"

Now. His bond with Aeraleth was nearly severed, Islanzadí had taken a bad interest in him and the Covenant was tearing this land apart. This had to be the second lowest point of his life. Maybe the third. "How do we win?" He quietly asked, running his hand over Aeraleth's snout without thinking about it.

Daenlith leant in close to him and placed two fingers at his chin, peering at him with her slanted, yellow eyes. They looked so much like Aeraleth's. "We do you as you taught me. We fight. And we win."

Maine didn't see how. Before, maybe. But now? Spartans didn't lose. And he had lost. Lost _hard_.

"But," Daenlith continued, pulling her hand back and sitting down next him. She too leant with her back against Aeraleth, who seemed to allow it. "Not now. Now we nurse our wounds and wait for a new opportunity. Your people hold here, in the Beors, and they hold strong. You need to gather your strength."

"I shouldn't have lost," he told her. He lowered his head, feeling a particular sense of shame and guilt. "I failed."

"Do not we all? Did Arya not fail when Durza ambushed her during her task? Did her mother not fail at fighting the Empire?"

"Spartan's don't fail," he retorted. "You don't understand that. We're different."

"Nonsense," Daenlith sharply bit back, louder than he knew of her. "Do not try to get me confused, because I do understand."

Het firmness of her voice shocked Maine; she had never spoken to him like this.

"Sometimes people are in need of help! And that is nothing to be ashamed of."

Maine remained silent. He did not know how to answer that, because it was obvious that she was right. Aeraleth and he had offered and accepted each other's help many times. He had never thought it possible to ask someone else. Not because the possibility had not existed. Just…who had he been supposed to ask? There was normally nobody to ask. His fellow Spartans were always scattered around the battlefield, because each and every single one of them was trained to fight alone.

Daenlith seemed to take his silence at face value, because she continued on a gentler note, "We all make mistakes. And we all fall. Only a few do get up again."

For a split-second, Maine wanted to tell her. About the Spartan-project, about _him_. He decided against it though. Aeraleth had understood, but he didn't want to risk alienating the one ally he had beyond that. He was done being alone in this war.

So the two of them sat down against Aeraleth and waited. The Spartan had not gotten a radio with him, so communication was difficult. Daenlith too was without any gear. But this time, he didn't mind. A bit of silence and calmness was good. He needed time to get his thoughts back in line.

Of course, he needed time for more than that.

"It was a Starborn," Daenlith concluded when she told him about the assassination attempt. The news should have taken him by surprise -and in a way it did- but he was just too tired to care. What had the Colonel told the young Spartans once? To be betrayed, you need to trust people. There had never been much trust between him and the rest of the outfits in the UNSC, so it technically wasn't a betrayal. That didn't matter a lot to the elf though -she was still greatly frustrated with the lack of cooperation, let alone attempts on his life.

"And what happened after the soldier shot him?" Maine asked, recalling the hesitation Daenlith had shown when she detailed the sniper's death.

"Arya and Eragon arrived. They were…most likely attracted by the commotion. We retreated down the path and searched for medical aid." She halted and a scowl played over her features. "Which we found."

"A medic?"

"Queen Islanzadí." Her voice definitely dropped an octave when she uttered that name. "She seemed to have made an agreement with your leaders to take responsibility for your healing process…which I thought was meant to be kept a secret."

That news surprised him more than an UNSC soldier trying to snipe him. "Command made an appointment with the elves? About me?"

"It does look that way. She is our most gifted spellcaster…but she also leads our people. That she would concern herself with your injuries is…unprecedented."

His injuries…well, if the queen could help get him back in fighting shape, he would accept her involvement without hesitation. Though he would have preferred it if Oromis could be the one to do so. Exposing his bare skin to Islanzadí was not something he looked forward to. There was only one individual he really trusted with himself, in the end.

"How bad is it?" he asked, hoping to take the subject away from these uncomfortable thoughts.

"The queen meddling with your body? Or the Starborn soldiers who attempted to end your life?"

When she put it like that, it was more disconcerting. "I meant the injuries."

The elf pulled her shoulders up in a shrug. "Your face is still intact. Your people covered up the rest."

That last comment made him feel uncomfortable, but in a good sense. How did that even work? "Covenant ruined my armour. Fighting without it will be difficult."

"You should be sharp enough without it."

The Spartan shook his head. "The MJOLNIR is special. It enhances my speed and strength. Without it…I will be much less efficient." And with the injuries he had accumulated, the average ODST could probably prove more useful.

"So…you're not sharp without it?"

"No."

"That seems like a problem. So do you wish to look at them?"

"…at the MJOLNIR parts?"

"Possibly. I did mean your injuries."

Ah…what, right now? As in, without the clothes that the medical units had outfitted him with? "Now?"

Daenlith turned to look at him and he was surprised to see that she was smiling somewhat. "Of course, you could wait until Islanzadí is ready to do her part?"

…technically, she had seen him somewhat uncovered before. His back, to be precise. She hadn't been disgusted by the scars…and this was her suggestions…but why suggest it at all? What was her interest with his wounds?

Ignoring his confusion at the subject, Maine just sighed. "You sure?"

"You did help me when the Covenant burned me. Perhaps I may be of some assistance to you now?"

He would much rather be naked with Daenlith than with Islanzadí. In that regard, he did not feel too threatened. "If you think it will help…" he replied.

"I think I might," the elf quietly replied, placing a hand on his chest. "After all, you will require healing, no matter what. And I will not let the queen lay her hands on you."

That last bit sounded somewhat…possessive? A bit like Aeraleth often sounded when talking about protecting him. He did not mind.

The dragoness shifted her weight and brought one of her wings up, carefully placing it on the ground in front of them, as if to ward of incoming danger. She peered at him from underneath her wing, never taking her bright, golden eyes off of him.

Daenlith noticed her as well. As the elf turned to look at her, Aeraleth took her gaze off of Maine and rested her eyes on her instead.

Her hand slowly slid off the Spartan's chest and for a moment, Maine was starting to feel somewhat uneasy. Would the two clash together?

And as the seconds crept past and turned into a minute, that unease turned to actual worry. He was halfway through thinking of something to say, when Aeraleth lowered her head to the ground and closed her eyes again.

Daenlith smiled and put her hand back on Maine's chest, hooking a slender finger about the upper row of bandages that covered the wounds underneath.

"What was that?" the Spartan asked.

"It's…something that would confuse you."

It wouldn't the first time that something confused him, but he didn't mind that. He didn't want to waste energy trying to understand something that wasn't an immediate issue.

He felt the elf gently tug at the dressing and moved his hand to hers. "Are you sure?" He asked.

"Worry not," Daenlith said. Her voice had something soothing. Something calming. Whatever it was, it made her very easy to listen to. "I will only look. I promise."

Reluctantly, he took his hand away and allowed her to remove the bandages around his chest. Her fingers were very nimble, only tearing the bindings where they met, right in the center, without having to take off the outer clothing that the medics had given him. In the time it took his heart to beat two times, she had pried open the upper row of bandages, revealing his bare chest to the fresh, cold air.

It was a very good thing that Aeraleth was concealing them. Even here, surrounded by the people he cared for, being without his armour made him feel very uneasy. Especially with exposed skin.

"Have you always been this pale?" she asked him, running a slim finger across the nape in his neck.

"Not when I was young," he replied. "It's…just the suit. Blocks the sun."

Daenlith glanced at the scarring at his chest, where the plasma had boiled through his MJOLNIR and burned through his skin, flesh and parts of his organs. The skin looked wrinkled and raw. Very temporary. The emergency procedure had not actually repaired his damaged tissues; it had merely filled up the missing muscles, nerves and skin. When they said that only magic could patch him up, they had not been exaggerating.

The elf seemed to be taken aback somewhat. She did not touch him, but neither did she take her eyes off the wounds. "These must have been terrible wounds. Underneath, everything is still damaged."

"Yes," Maine weakly replied. "Aeraleth wanted to know the stories behind several scars she discovered. I don't know if they're still there."

"These injuries cover your chest…your limbs. A large portion of your body." She tore her gaze away from his wounds and looked him in his eyes, tilting her head somewhat in that amusing elven gesture of confusion. She reminded him so much of a little bird that he nearly forgot about the seriousness of his own condition. "How are you still alive?"

"Good healthcare, I suppose."

Feeble attempt at humour did not seem to work. The elf shook her head. "No. You died, but your body was still alive enough to safe it. You survived before your people could heal you. But with such injuries...I doubt even Aeraleth could have survived injuries like these."

Maine knew what she meant, and he knew the cause of her confusion. But he couldn't…he could not tell her the truth. Even though she had the right to know.

"Truthfully, you seem to be defying the average qualities of your race in many aspects. I mean no disrespect to your fighters, but they are not nearly as skilled as you are. The same went for your assailant. What, I wonder, makes you so different?"

The Spartan lowered his head. He had felt equally as hesitant in revealing his past to Aeraleth as he felt now, but that was still different. She was mentally linked to him -_was _mentally linked to him. But by now, Daenlith had the right to know.

"I told you about the war, right?" He carefully asked her, fully understanding that this might be the stupidest thing he had done on this planet yet. "The Covenant, burning our worlds?"

"You did." She did not interrupt him, for which he was very grateful.

"My people needed an edge. Something to help. Anything to help. Soldiers strong enough to fight the Covenant and win. Soldiers that wouldn't die so easily. We were losing, Daenlith. Losing hard. Millions of lives lost in weeks, planets lost in days."

"Anything to win?"

"Anything. With their advanced medicines, the UNSC could…alter…the bodies of some soldiers. Specific ones."

"Alter? Like the bond alters humans?"

"No, it…" This was difficult. How could he describe the true nature of the Augmentation process? The mind-numbing pain of every single bone in his body breaking and splintering, the white-hot agony of his nerves being remade, each and every one of them? "It's more. Deeper. Physically, humans are very similar to the humans on Alagaesia."

The elf blinked and looked at his chest again. "The difference between Spartans and normal humans lays in medicine?"

"Not completely. The procedure took a long time, and it doesn't work with everyone. It is…also quite uncomfortable."

"How old were you when this happened?" Daenlith quietly asked.

"Old enough for it to work." A dangerous subject he was not yet ready to speak about. Even his group of Spartans knew the controversy about their creation. "We call it, the Augmentation. It made us stronger, faster." And clearly, it also changed something inside his head as well. Where else could these fits of aggression and irrationality come from? "Good enough to fight the Covenant."

"How many of you are there?" Her voice was like a whisper, but she did not push him away. She stayed with him.

"The first attempt at the Spartan-project was a failure. The second produced the most skilled soldiers that humanity ever had. The II's. Not many of them are left. My generation came after them, with thirteen Spartans."

"They designed you with war in mind?" the elven lady then asked him. "Then what about peace?"

Maine lowered his head. "Peace was an unexpected outcome. We were not meant for peace."

"That is ridiculous. Why create soldiers who cannot live their lives after the war?"

It was the state of mind of the UNSC at that time. "It's not…it's like running out of stone to build walls, so you use wood instead. Or using wooden bolts instead of steel ones. Everything to win time."

"You see yourself as inferior to the generation before you?"

"We are. The Spartans are considered the closest thing our civilization has to heroes. During training, we had to learn their tactics and movements. Memorize them."

Daenlith sighed and leant against his shoulder with her head. Her long, silver hair fell across his arm like a curtain, making her pointed ears look even more pronounced. "Such a sorry way to exist. To live and see only war, misery and death. Do you not long for something else? Something more?"

The Spartan rested his head against hers, taking in the faint, pleasant smell of her hair and skin. There were many things to long for. He had never fully realized his own ideals, for started. What did he fight for? What would it take to stop fighting?

His own people shooting at him, maybe. "I do," he softly replied. "But what else is there? Until the war is over, I-"

The elf nudged him with her head, shutting him up. "There is more in war than victory or defeat. The small moments between, that remind us what we are fighting to protect."

A small moment of peace and sanity…he would like that. "How?"

"I can show you."

Suddenly, Aeraleth raised her head and started growling at something. A deep, intimidating rumbling came from within her throat and pulled both Daenlith as Maine back to reality.

"Someone approaches," she spoke, sounding like she was out of breath.

Maine gritted his teeth and climbed over Aeraleth's tail, glancing over the row of bony spikes that protruded from her tail. At a time like this…this had better be really, _really _important.

It was a Marine, rapidly approaching them over the stones. Navigating them easier than he had.

Aeraleth's low growl grew louder and louder, until the very rocks underneath his feet were vibrating. Only then did the soldier stop, visibly trying to get a bead on the Spartan's location.

Maine made a mental note to thank Aeraleth and tried to recall which spells he knew, just in case. He was not about to let anyone else get the drop on him.

He couldn't trust his own people anymore.

"Sir?" the Marine yelled, keeping a healthy distance between himself and the angry dragoness. "Sir, you there?"

Daenlith casted him a surprised look. "Sir?"

"Ehm…yes…" Maine looked away, stricken with a sense of awkwardness. "Technically, I outrank him."

The elf did not inquire further and the Spartan patted Aeraleth on her tail, signaling her to stand down. She ceased menacing the soldier and the surrounding landscape, but he could feel her muscles tense up in response. She was ready to pounce at a moment's notice.

Good. So was he.

"Soldier, report," the Spartan barked at the approaching Marine. Even though his mind still wasn't clear enough for defensive and offensive magic, he could still gauge the soldier for any hostile response and signal Aeraleth to take him out. It was foolish to assume that the attacks would stop simply because one gunman had been taken out.

The Marine snapped off a salute. "Corporal Hudson, sir. Informally known as 'smartass' by one of your allies, sir."

Ignoring that last part, the Spartan took what he knew about the soldier. Hudson…he knew that name. A part of the original Marine force dispatched to the surface, but that wasn't it. Why did the name 'Hudson' sound so familiar to him?

"Sir, we need you back at the camp. Something came up."

Daenlith swiftly took his wrist in her hand, reminding him that danger lurked everywhere. Right now, there were too many unknowns. The native races were officially more trustworthy than the UNSC soldiers, so he was not about to follow one through the canyon into a possible ambush.

He did sound urgent though. "What's wrong?"

"It's the Captain, sir. They found him planetside. Somebody shot him-" -_what?- _"-and Arya found him, but it's not looking good."

Captain Wren had been fighting the Covenant in orbit. Why was he down here? Had the shooter hit him as well? Was this even the same assassin, or the work of more individuals? It had to be connected.

"We cannot risk this, even if it might be a trap," Daenlith commented. "If one of your people attempted to take your Captain's life, this alliance is in danger of falling."

That was a point he hadn't even thought about. That made the choice simple, then. Return to the camp, stave off the side-effects of the wounds long enough to get a grasp on the situation, and then maybe confront Islanzadí as well.

Maine nodded to the elf and then gave Aeraleth a reassuring stroke, hopefully letting her know that everything was alright and that she could let the two of them leave.

The dragoness glanced at him for a few moments before removing her tail, allowing the Spartan to actually move. He felt a pang of vulnerability when she removed the massive, scaled appendage. Right now, he could be killed by a single shot. How close was he to becoming a liability? Without his armour, without magic and without even being able to trust his body, he was utterly defenseless.

It brought back a memory he would rather not think about, especially not now.

"Take me to him," he ordered the soldier.

"Yes sir." The Marine turned back towards the rocks and started moving, but stopped himself at the last moment and glanced over his shoulder. "Sir? Did you teach Raia about the Forerunners?"

Maine stopped dead in his tracks, fists clenched and muscles tensed. "Why?" He demanded.

"Well, a while back, she started asking odd questions. I figured someone might have taught her these concepts. That is all, sir."

But…he had never actually told Raia about the Forerunners. Perhaps about the fact that the Covenant worshipped them as gods, but nothing that warranted odd questions.

Shaking off the odd remark, the Spartan started making the long, painful journey back to the base, closely followed by the elf and the dragon.


	44. Preparations

The road back to the UNSC encampment was long and exhausting. Maine´s body felt like it had finally fallen apart on him. After all those years of fighting, he had finally reached a physical low. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. He had limits, but he had always tried to ignore those. Spartans didn't have limits, he told himself, so neither did he. And now that his limits had arrived to prove that he was, in fact, flawed, he wasn't sure what to think of it. Should he consider it sobering, or a terrible turn of events? That was something he needed to think about.

Aeraleth could not yet accompany them. Even without having access to her very thought and feeling, Maine knew that she needed time to recompose herself. And he understood that. He just needed time to think about that as well.

Time that he did not have. Because, as he soon found out, there was always a situation that demanded immediate attention.

The UNSC encampment was, for lack of a better description, a mess. Soldiers were running around, issuing orders to everybody who would listen, while dozens of native individuals were just standing, watching it unfold.

Maine glanced over the encampment while Hudson went ahead, and saw something that did not belong there. A shade of black, taller than any human.

_Elite._

His combat reflexes kicked in and he immediately raised his pistol, aligned the barrel with the alien's head and pulled-

A sudden jerk at his arm shook him out of his thoughts, and he looked at the elf who had prevented him from gunning down the obvious threat. "What are you-?"

"The Sangheili are with us," Daenlith said, before letting go of his arm.

"_What?"_

"They offered us their aid in freeing Alagaesia."

The Elites were fighting at humanity's side, again? Like they supposedly had on Earth, before they started glassing Africa? No. He was not going to buy that. "They're not allies, Daenlith. They're the enemy."

"So were the urgals, until recently. Things change."

But Maine shook his head, unwilling to believe that the creatures he had been fighting for so long could be trusted with something as important as safeguarding mankind. Everything that he stood for, everything that made him _him_, screamed at him to protest against this. His burning planet, the fallen Spartans that went before his generation, the billions of dead men, women and children who had been mercilessly slaughtered. How could he accept this? "No." He raised the pistol again, taking aim at the monster that was walking around the its prey. "Some things can't be changed. I-"

"Maine," Daenlith called. She used his real name. Since when did she know his real name? "Stop and think! What example would you set by opening up past wounds now? What good would unleashing more conflict do now?"

_Past wounds?_

"There are people who need our help. Can you not bury your feelings, if only for this battle?"

He wanted to ask her if she had any idea what she was asking of him, but he supposed that would be pointless. Pointless and unfair; he had no clue what it meant for him either.

It had not escaped the Corporal. He had been halfway checking the various tents when he returned, tactfully avoiding that specific subject.

"Ehm…" Hudson cleared his throat and said, "I need to go report to the LT now. She's organizing a debriefing about this mess. Something big has come up, and apparently, it involves our splitfaced friends." He paused. "Sir. You might want to check up on Raia before you go. She was really adamant about the Forerunners, and I don't know if that's a good thing or not."

"I'll talk with her," the Spartan replied. Now he knew where he had heard the name 'Hudson' before. His father had been a member of the ORION project. The first generation of Spartans, the I's. Hudson senior had been involved with Captain Wren during several operations together, before they had drifted apart. "But what's it to you?"

"The way I see it sir, she and I have things in common. But I have the rest of the Marines, and she has no one."

With that, the Spartan 1.1 turned around and left, leaving the SS-II to reflect on his words.

As a Shade, there was no other living creature that wanted to be near Raia. Dwarves were afraid of her, elves hated her and humans wanted to kill her on sight. Hudson was right on that regard. But why? What would a man like him look for in her?

"Do we look for her?" Daenlith asked. "Or do we go attend to your fallen Captain?"

She was using his own language for this. He was very grateful for that; he wasn't certain he could do anything in the Ancient Language right now. He just couldn't seem to focus. "I want to talk to her first. If she's mentioning F-" A sudden spasm in his chest cut him off and he winced, hoping that it had gone unnoticed. "Forerunners, it cannot be good."

"If you are well enough." Her tone had an edge of sympathy to it. Was that a good thing? "But where will you find her?"

Maine closed his eyes, hoping that he could still focus enough to broaden his consciousness and locate the unique mind that belonged to Raia. He managed to get far enough to touch Daenlith's mind before his concentration collapsed. "I can't seem to…could you…?"

He didn't need to continue. The elf nodded and, in the rather painful time it took him to inhale and exhale again, found success. "I found her. Shall I accompany you?"

He didn't want her to leave. Right now, she was about the only thing that still made sense. The only aspect of his life that still worked. "Yes."

Raia was resting where Maine could normally be found. Perched on a rock, overlooking the camp from a vantage point where nobody could spot her. It was an exhausting and painful climb to actually get to her, though he never voiced his discomfort. And Daenlith didn't ask. Her eyes, which occasionally rested on him as he struggled, said enough.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Raia spoke when Maine approached her. She sounded awfully detached.

"I was busy," he replied. Her clothing was different. She wore military fatigues instead of her normal cloak. Was that to better blend in? Why would she bother with that?

"I can see that," she dryly remarked, still without actually facing him. "What is _she _doing here?"

Maine looked over his shoulder and glanced at Daenlith, who was respectfully keeping her distance. She stood with her hands crossed behind her back, patiently waiting until he was done. Ready to take the sword of which she was keeping the hilt in her hand, and leap at his defense. "Accompanying me."

The Shade sighed and laid back on the rock, resting her head on her arms. "You look like shit."

She had been hanging out with the Corporal alright. Ignoring her sophisticated manner of putting it, he replied, "As I said, I was busy."

"Busy." There was no reason to believe that Raia could miss his current status. The wounds, the lingering smell of powerful drugs and medicine. "Fine. Why are you here?"

"A friend of yours asked me to talk to-"

He had not even finished his sentence before she jumped to her feet and walked up to him, jabbing at his chest with a sharp-nailed finger. "He's not my friend! I spared his life, he helped me preserve mine. That does make him one!"

The Spartan did not know why she would respond to vehemently to such a simple statement, but the fierceness behind her response did arouse his curiosity. "I thought it was good that you liked him-"

He wanted to continue and tell her that having allies was a very good thing in war, but again she interrupted him. "I do _not _like that talkative moron! Humans are unsightly, and he is _no _exception!"

It was a curious thing to see that her cheeks, normally ever-pale because of her unnatural body, looked so coloured. It gave her face a healthier look. "Okay." At the same time, if the subject kept riling her up like this, it might be bad for his own health. And he didn't want a repeat of the last time had taken Daenlith and Raia to meet. "I still want to talk to you."

Her excitement dissipated somewhat, and she took a step back to give him some room. "Fine. What do you want?"

"The Forerunners. Corporal Hudson said you were asking questions about them."

The Shade snorted. "Yes, I did. So what? If something's whispering foreign words and images in my head, I want to know what they mean."

"Wait, what?" Alarm shot through Maine's body and his body instinctively backed away from the woman, who seemed bewildered at his response.

"Don't act so surprised," she said with annoyance. This never happened before your people arrived here. I asked Huds' if he could make it stop, but he acted just as stupid as you do now."

That was not surprising. The UNSC had no means of placing words and images in your head that didn't take years of rigid training from a young age. "What sort of words and images?"

The Shade crossed her arms. "The kind that makes no sense. It's hard to remember them. They're more of a garbled mess than anything else…the names of the Covenant creatures showed up though. Something about a flooding…guardians." She shrugged. "Doesn't make sense. "

"So what makes you think it's Forerunner?" Maine then carefully asked. Something about this didn't make sense. It didn't feel right.

"Because it told me. I said it whispered things into my head, didn't it?" Her agitation bordered on aggression.

It told her. "But I thought you didn't have an 'it' in your head anymore," Maine said. Despite everything that had been going on, he was still very sure that she wasn't an ordinary Shade anymore. It was the sole reason that she had followed that other Shade; it had freed her from the malicious intent of the spirits that had attempted to snuff out her consciousness.

Hadn't she?

"I know," Raia snarled. "It's _very _annoying." His unease must have been visible to her, as she quickly added, "Oh don't give me that look. It's not spirits. Far too weak for that."

She had been very vocal about her how much she loved her freedom. To have another…thing…inside of her head right now…it must have been very frustrating for her. He didn't want to push her on this, but he had to. This was important. "I met your Lady."

Raia visibly flinched at that, though she tried to mask it behind indifference. "You did?"

He heard Daenlith shift her footing, behind him. The subject disturbed everyone equally as much.

Good. Raia's loyalty to her mistress had always been a problematic subject and he wanted to get that out of the way, now. "She tried to kill Aeraleth. She tried to kill _me._"

"She did."

"If Daenlith and Aeraleth had been a minute slower, she would have won." He let out the fact that, in a way, she already had. "And she has a new ally."

"Who?" Raia quietly asked.

What was her name again? "The witch-child. The one Eragon cursed."

"Elva. Are…are you certain of this? Did she take Elva?"

That was her name. "She was there of free will." Maine took a step closer towards the Shade, staring her down. Right now, she could easily overpower him if she were to turn on him. But he was still taller than she was, and his companion would make sure that nothing happened. He wanted to trust Raia, but he couldn't. Not after what had happened. "I need to be sure. Whose side are you on?"

"I-"

"Spartan," Daenlith softly called out. "We should meet your leaders soon."

"Raia, whose side?"

The look of clear shock and unhappiness in her eyes were hard to look at. A feeling of sadness and pity welled up in his chest as he looked at them. She and him had been enemies for a long time. He had killed her twice, and he had been completely convinced that his actions had been right. But even after she had had a change of heart, and done everything in her power to aid him, nothing had changed for her. Was this other Shade comparable to Aeraleth? Or Daenlith? To her, when nobody else in this land would even tolerate her presence?

"I…" she lowered her head and casted her eyes to the ground. "I don't know."

"Spartan," Daenlith said again. "That is enough."

Maine didn't continue. He wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do, but he couldn't have her discover where her loyalties lay in the middle of a fight. Especially not if those loyalties were wrong.

With that, the Spartan left the Shade alone on the rocks. Both of them had plenty of matters to think about, equally as important and equally as difficult.

There was something in her head that was saying things to her. Whispering names, showing her images. It had called itself Forerunner. What was he supposed to make of that? Was she lying to him, trying get him confused? But why? Why not just attack him if her goal was to hurt him? What was she playing at?

"Maine?" Daenlith asked. "What she said…"

"What about it?"

The two of them were making their way down the rocky path that led back to the UNSC camp, but at a slower pace than before. Maine wanted to preserve as much strength as he possibly could. The trinket that Oromis had given him had been impounded together with his MJOLNIR.

"I believe her."

That came as a relief to him, much to his surprise. "Why?"

"Because...she is not the only one."

The Spartan halted at that, turning around to stare at the elf. "What?"

Daenlith looked away, ashamed. "It is not just me. Each member of our race has it. Every now and then, we can hear a voice. A malicious one. It speaks to us for mere moments at best, but when it does, its voice echoes through every aspect of our being. As if it speaks into our soul."

This was new. And disturbing. "How…how long has this been happening?"

She shook her head. "A few months. Half a year. Nobody dares to speak about it, for wild magic like that can be dangerous."

Wild magic…this wasn't magic! "Daenlith, if something telepathic is harassing the elven race, we are in serious trouble."

"I know that. But admitting such a thing is…difficult. Had Raia not wrestled with such problems herself, I would not have confided it either."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Another headache was coming up yet again. "We will see what comes up next. I want -I need you to talk to Arya about this. Find out if she has experienced it recently-" He halted, seeing something more important that needed to be asked. "Did you experience this recently?"

She nodded.

Of course. "We'll see what command has to say."

She did not disagree with that. As Captain Wren had been attacked and shot by an unknown assailant, that left his second-in-command in charge. Maine wasn't too certain who that was, and neither did he care.

The UNSC camp was still a beehive of action when they returned. Marines were guiding the local forces, while being guided by more seasoned veterans in return. They all had that grim, unsure expression on their faces. Had the fall of the Captain struck them that hard? Or was there something else going on?

They weren´t the only ones out there. There were Covenant races, too. Elites and Grunts. Even a Hunter. His instincts had spiked badly when he had spotted that one, and Daenlith had had a difficult time getting him to calm down again. It wasn't right! The only reason the Elites had supposedly helped mankind back on Earth was for their own interests. They had gone straight back to murdering again after the Ark had been handled. They had no business here.

The pavillon of the current CO was dead ahead, hidden behind rocks. Multiple snipers and gunners were hidden across its perimeter, in positions where the normal soldier would have a hard time spotting them. Maine located them all within seconds, and he was not happy with the complete lack of protection that he was now suffering. Had his MJOLNIR been destroyed beyond repair?

"This is the place?" she asked.

He didn't respond. There were two guards standing at attention right near the entrance of the tent, and he did not like the way they were looking at him. It was like the old days at training; everyone was an enemy, everyone was trying to kill him. And because he didn't know if there were more assassins than the one who had been killed, that threat was more literal than anything.

He didn't have an ID on him, but the soldiers didn't ask. It took them one look to verify what he was before they let him through.

Daenlith would wait for him outside. He didn't want to subject her to the scrutinizing stares and stressing factors of a military debriefing.

The interior of the pavilion was chaotic. Papers and tacpads were scattered all around, and there was another Elite inside too. Black armoured spec-op unit. He remembered killing an entire team of them back on Delta Halo. The last time he had seen those units, too.

Aside from the alien, there were various humans as well. Or humanoids. King Hrothgar was there. Queen Islanzadí and even a very large Kull. He hadn't been there the last time.

No Eragon. And neither Arua. Only Nasuada and, much to his relief, her father. Ajihad had finally recovered from his wounds. A tough man, and, strangely enough, more appealing as a leader to the Spartan than the current acting-CO. A Second Lieutenant, female. He remembered her from the Burning Plains.

But she was his CO, so he snapped off a salute. "Two-Sierra zero-zero-seven reporting for duty," he called.

The large Elite glanced at him and Maine met its gaze head-on. There would be no mistake; if the thing made one wrong movement, it would be dead. He was wounded and without his armour, but he was confident that he could take one Elite.

Hudson wasn't here. Had they used him as a messenger? If so, why him?

"At ease, Spartan," the Lieutenant said. "I'm Second Lieutenant Riley, acting Commander after the assassination attempt on Captain Wren."

Attempt. So he was still alive right now. "Ma'am."

Why did the queen look at him like that? It was about the same gaze he would normally reserve for members of the Covenant.

"I'm going to be as honest as I can get, seeing the current situations. We won't be keeping any secrets from our allies either. So with that in mind, everyone here is aware that we have a hostile element within the UNSC. The Captain managed to ID his attacker. Specialist Takeo."

"Under what motive would a soldier attack their own leader?" the dwarf king asked with his heavy, crackling voice. It was good to see him again as well. He had survived the Covenant attack, which meant that he was even tougher than Maine had previously thought.

"We don't know. He disappeared shortly after the attempt. We think he is working for a third party within the UNSC, to take the secrets of this world for their own benefit. We won't allow that."

"Secrets?" Maine asked. Did she mean magic?

The Lieutenant glared at the Elite, which didn't flinch under her gaze. "Yes. Secrets. The Special Operations Officer has a specific objective of his own, but the situation changed."

The Elite growled and touched one of the small electronic spheres lying on the table, which started humming and then split open through the middle, beaming a holographic image into the air. "An unknown signal revealed the presence of our ship," it growled. "We cannot land reinforcements for out objective."

"Yes, your objective," Ajihad said. His voice was nearly as heavy as the alien's. "The one your never told anyone about. Would you have left us when you reached it? Pretend to be our allies and then abandon is in the middle of this war?"

Maine recognized the image that the Elite had created. It was the temple in Du Weldenvarden. Was this what this was all about?

The Elite clicked its jaws. "No. There lies a danger in this place." Its grasp of the human language was impressive. "A danger to this world, as well as those beyond it. And had it not been for us, it would have _consumed _you."

"More dangerous than this 'Covenant' invasion, which has killed so many thousands of our people?" Islanzadí asked. "Somewhat presumptions, I might say. Would you share this secret with us?"

"What was this objective of yours, Ranamai?" Nasuada asked. She kept her polite facade, which seemed to interest the Elite a lot. His reptilian eyes locked with hers and he observed her for several long moments before he gave his reply. "Officer, what was your true purpose in our land?"

"Our objective was to find a Construct hidden on this world," it growled. "But we could not keep its malicious presence a…secret, from the rest of these races." It then looked at the elven queen. "A secret that has revealed itself to you, long ago."

Nasuada frowned. "What is a Construct?"

"It's an AI," the Lieutenant said. "An Artificial Intelligence. A mind, a consciousness, created by living beings. Is it Forerunner?"

The Elite snorted, before nodding.

Great. The last time humanity had encountered a Forerunner AI, it had turned on the Master Chief and nearly prevented him from wiping out the Flood on the Ark. These things were dangerous. But the temple had held a Forerunner AI, which had helped him considerably. It had not been dangerous. This was difficult.

Was this Gilderien they were talking about?

"I fear that I do not understand," the old dwarf spoke. "Life given life by other beings? My people would call those beings gods."

"We create Artificial Intelligences on a daily basis," the Lieutenant replied. "They are invaluable allies in times of peace and war."

A heavy silence fell after that comment. Basically, probably without even realizing it, Riley had just proclaimed that mankind was gods. Maine didn't like that connection very much.

The Elite crossed its arms. "After the Great Schism, our people vowed to never let anything harm humanity again. We waged war against the Brutes and the remaining Prophets. But in doing so, we encountered an even greater threat. One that would see us all in ruins."

"This…AI?" Nasuada had not lost her edge.

"Indeed. We presume this Construct to be created by the Ancients, and it does not want us here."

"I met the AI," Maine spoke up, glaring at the Elite. The urge for violence was so strong. "It called itself Gilderien the Wise. It assisted me and Aeraleth in our fight against the Empire."

Islanzadí recognized his words at once. "Gilderien the Wise, guardian of the Outpost of the Sun. Oromis spoke of him, when I last met him. He was not one of us, according to him. Gilderien was an enigma. If these gods of yours…these Forerunners…if they created him, it was not to make him do any harm. Gilderien was an ally."

"Not possible," the Elite replied. "The Construct purposely led the Brutes to our vessel, purposely refused to seek contact. We know it is a threat, which is the sole purpose of our presence here. To stop it."

If Maine was understanding this right -and he had no reason to believe that he wasn't- then the Elites were here because of a hostile Forerunner AI. A different AI from Gilderien.

"Our ship original arrived here due to the interference of another Forerunner AI," the Lieutenant then said. "Two-Sierra zero-one-one went missing several months ago. When our battlegroup arrived at the planet he had been active, it was drawn into some sort of Slipspace field. It must have scattered us through space."

"If you were sent to this world, it must have been with a purpose," Ajihad spoke. "Destiny, fate, no matter which, there was something that brought you here. We believed it to help us fight the Empire. We were wrong. It was to fight this…AI creature of which you speak."

"Now hold on," Riley replied. "We still have no reason to believe that anything like this actually exists here. The Forerunners died out a hundred-thousand years ago."

"The Ancients build to last," the Elite said. He was leaning over the table, observing the temple keenly. "Whatever they created on this world, it must still be here."

It was true. Delta Halo had been littered with structures that looked like they had been built hours beforehand. Before the tentacles and corpses had started littering them.

"We may debate this subject for years to come," King Hrothgar then pointed out, silencing the others. "But there is one sure method of finding out the truth. Where lies this Temple of yours?"

"In Du Weldenvarden. As of now, it must be our only structure still remaining. Its walls were never vulnerable to physical harm."

"Ma'am, permission to speak freely?" Maine requested.

"Granted."

"We should focus on the Brute invasion forces. As of now, this AI is a lesser threat." But somehow, that wasn't quite true. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was involved in Raia's sudden problem with hearing and seeing things, as well as with the problem that the elves had been having. With all the magic and years of exposure that these races had been having with it, there was no ruling out the possibility that a Forerunner AI could find out how to mentally influence people.

"Unless their forces seize it," the queen said. "What sorrow would be reaped if they steal it from its place?"

"I concur," said Hrothgar. "To deny the enemy their prize, is that not your art of war?"

Maine was certain that the Lieutenant had not been there for that conversation, but she handled herself competently nonetheless. "They want it, so we take it? A sound idea. There is only one problem."

"Brute air superiority," the Elite growled. "We cannot insert our forces aerially, and neither can we reach it with heavy vehicles."

"The Officer is right. Any attempt to mount a convoy towards the forests will be met with lethal force. I don't want to risk any of our soldiers with that Covenant ship still hanging over Alagaesia."

The Master Chief and the other II's had undertaken several missions to infiltrate and sabotage an enemy capital ship, with success. Perhaps…

No. They did not possess a sophisticated AI like the Master Chief had. They had no chance of eliminating all the guards aboard the ship while also infiltrating its systems. Either they needed a distraction, or they couldn't perform this operation.

The _When Duty Ends _was too valuable to risk now. They were out of options.

"The Brutes would never waste their resources in small groups," Ajihad then said. "If we leave our armies here to defend us against their forces, small elite teams can infiltrate the Temple. Fight only when they need to fight."

"The Brutes would prefer attacking a fortified position above hunting down small teams," Riley replied, glancing at the holographic display of the temple. "And if Specialist Takeo gets there alive…whoever compromised him from ONI can not be allowed to get that AI. Ignoring it is not an option."

"I can dispatch several of my troops to assist the forces you would send," The Elite said. "But make no mistake; anything larger than several soldiers will not go unnoticed."

"Unless we pan them out. Sweep them across Alagaesia, attack from multiple angles."

"Agreed. Elven queen, we need experienced travelers as well as fighters. My people know these mountains better than any one creature alive in this world. We can help our Starborn allies to keep the camp."

"Eragon and Arya would make an excellent team," Nasuada said, before looking at Maine. A look of pity welled up in her eyes. "Spartan, I know I cannot ask this of you, but-"

"I'll go," he replied. "Two-man cells will move more discreetly."

"Absolutely not," the Second Lieutenant interjected. "Your survival is critical to the deterrence of the Brutes. If you die-"

He hated having to do this with the alien in their midst, but he didn't really have a lot of choice here. "With respect ma'am, the mission goes before our survival. Forerunner AI's were built to last, but we were not. Additionally, Gilderien recognized me as a Reclaimer. That might prove invaluable if we want to get inside."

"You will not stand alone," Ajihad said. "We will send the best of our warriors towards the Temple. We might travel as individuals, but we will arrive an army."

The Second Lieutenant glanced at Maine with a scrutinizing look. "Your armour will not be available for this operation. You will be without air support, without reconnaissance and without back-up."

"Yes ma'am. That's why I should go, ma'am."

She sighed. "I see. Recommend you get prepped then; after we've put together the teams, you will depart immediately."

"Speak to the Unggoy outside, demon," the Special Operations Elite told him, much to Maine's annoyance. "The one called Wadab. You will need a proper tool of justice."

If that thing kept talking to him, he would show it how a tool of justice operated by strangling it with its own spine.

"Good luck, seven," Riley told him.

The Spartan saluted and left. Now he had an objective; find the temple and secure the Forerunner AI dwelling within. Multiple two-man teams striking that place from multiple positions sounded like the ideal way to take care of it. How were they going to cross the distance between the Beors and the forests so quickly though? And who else would be inserted for this operation? He was certain that he was going to meet up with Arya and Eragon once more, and he was relieved at that. But having them see him like this, as he was now? That thought stung, more than it should.

Perhaps he was being stupid. He wasn't immune to such bouts of idiocy, after all.

He glanced around, searching for the Grunt that was supposed to lead him to the armory. The thought was so ridiculous that he didn't even want to think about that. Never before had simply obeying orders without questioning them felt so welcome.

He spotted clawed footprints on the ground. Familiar ones. A Grunt had been wandering around nearby. Flat, clawed feet had dragged patterns in the sand, scratched the surface of the stone.

The stones looked so bright. Warm, too. Looking at them gave him a fuzzy feeling in his head. Tired him, too. A bit too much. Were they coming closer-?

"Maine!"

Daenlith grabbed him before he could fully sink through his knees and fall to the ground. Any normal person would have crashed to the ground with him, but she was no ordinary person. She easily supported his weight and, carefully wrapping one arm around his waist and supporting his shoulders with the other, guided him away from the path.

"You are not ready for any form of fighting," she told him when she had gently placed him with his back against a large rock, where he could support his own weight. "You need more time. Time and healing."

Maine gritted his teeth, wishing that the white spots that were dancing in front of his eyes would go away. "We don't have time. No healing either."

"If Islanzadí can help you, take your pain away, should you not attempt it?" she asked. "I will not stop her if it is your choice."

"No," he said. His limbs felt like they were on fire. It was…difficult to focus. Very difficult. "I…I'll be fine. Just give me a moment."

The elf sighed, but she did not protest. The Spartan took several moments to try and recompose himself; get his breathing back in line, banish the pain from his mind. Difficult, but not impossible. He could do this. Intense pain was never prolonged. Prolonged pain was never intense. He had whispered those words to himself countless times during his torture at the hands of the Insurrectionists.

"What will we do now?" Daenlith quietly asked him after a while. "What did they tell you?"

"They-" both of them stopped talking when they heard scratching sounds coming from further down the path. Distinct pattering of claws dragging across rocks.

Maine immediately reached for his sidearm, while Daenlith placed her hand at her hip, where the hilt of her sword was begging to be used.

A Grunt wandered down the path, looking very secure of its position in a camp filled with survivors and veterans of Covenant attacks.

The Spartan tensed up, thoughts of instant takedowns and quick kills flashing through his mind. At this distance, the alien might get off a shot. There would be no dodging for him. The only chance of taking this thing out, was to do it before it spotted them.

He tensed-

-and Daenlith's hand brushed past his, reminding him that he was not supposed to be fighting now.

His mouth felt dry as he spoke to the Grunt. "You Wadab?"

The alien turned to face him, displaying none of the signs of either hostility or cowardice that he had come to associate with it. "That me! Me looking for Demon. Special weapons for Demon use."

"It called you a demon," Daenlith said with surprise. "Why did it-?"

He gave her a look and she stopped herself from continuing that question. If his discomfort was visible to her, she didn't comment on it.

"I'll take the weapons on his behalf," he told the Grunt. Him, a Spartan, telling a Grunt that he would take its weapons on his own behalf. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation was as embarrassing as it was frustrating. Everything that made him who he was, was screaming at him to kill this thing and be done with it. Kill every alien in the camp, make sure that they couldn't hurt anyone. But there was no way that he was telling this thing that he was its 'demon'.

"Meh. Fine by me. You come. Elite weapon cache up ahead."

"A moment."

The Grunt nodded and then turned around again. "Follow."

When the alien had left hearing range, Maine grunted and crossed his arms. "This had better be worth it."

"Why do you need its weapons?" The elf asked him with a mixture of amusement and pity.

"Not its weapons. The Elite's. Plasma weapons are superior to UNSC weapons. Where we're going, we will need them."

"Oh? Where are we going then?"

"We're going back to your home," Maine told her.

She smiled at him at hearing that. Despite her feelings towards her race, she couldn't hide her enthusiasm. "That cannot be so bad, can it?"

It felt so good to see her smile. If only he could share the gesture. No, instead the small Grunt popped its masked head out from behind the rock. "You come! Special weapons!"

Being ordered around by a Grunt was only mildly mitigated by seeing Daenlith's expression shift from amusement to shock in a heartbeat. Elves had this innocent air over them when they were looking at something that didn't make sense. He had compared them to little birds before, and that comparison had never lost any value to him. "I thought it-"

"Yes."

"Are you going to-?"

"I have to."

"Well…" she took his hand in hers and smiled again. "I shall keep an eye on it then."

Did she know how to disable Grunts? "If it proves to be hostile-"

She pulled at his arm, guiding him away from the rock. "Then I will teach it one more demon. Come, Spartan."

Maine was too surprised by her sudden forthcoming behaviour to say anything. Perhaps he didn't need to say anything, either. When Aeraleth recovered from her own injuries, the two of them had some very interesting subjects to talk about.


	45. Alpha team pt I

Of the crowd of people that had gathered for the speech, Eragon doubted anyone had any idea what was really happening. Why they were really gathered there. He supposed that they probably would not figure it out, either. Their allies from the stars had too much secrets to keep, too much hostility towards other species.

It hadn't been clear from the beginning though. A new group of humans coming from beyond the stars, taking with them technology and weapons that was eons ahead of everything that the species down in Alagaesia had? Even more potent than the most complicated forms of magic? It had been a gift from the Gods. The means to easily defeat the Empire without having to sacrifice lives to do so. Even better, their understanding of warfare had been revolutionary! Their weapons allowed them to deploy different strategies and tactics, to turn every encounter into a great victory.

But slowly their other side had started to show. Scarred from a massive war that had ravaged their worlds, the UNSC organization that kept their military forces together had grown incredibly distrusting of everything that wasn't them. At best, they didn't trust the various races to whose aid they had come. There was racism, prejudice and a whole lot of condescending remarks.

At worst however…Eragon wasn't sure what to feel about how the UNSC saw them at worst. According to them, the urgals had to be exterminated. The elves were arrogant and cowardly and the dwarves were good for labour forces only. Those remarks had come from dark thoughts and horrible experiences in war, of course. But that didn't take away from the inherently evil traits that they carried with them.

The UNSC were not their allies. Not truly. They had come here, taken over the war effort with their massive ship and insulted and belittled other leaders who had spent years of their life fighting for freedom. And they didn't even trust each other. Within the structure of the UNSC; people were fighting other people for reasons they weren't even willing to divulge.

And the strangest thing was that most, if not all leaders had to know that. So why was Ajihad preparing to give a speech to the gathered forces, knowing that their ´benefactors´ weren't all that they appeared?

"Brave warriors of the Varden," he started. The canyon of the Beors was large enough for accommodate thousands, but what if the monsters attacked now? They could burn the entire army to ashes. "We have withstood many trials to get here. Many of you have suffered great losses in the face of an overwhelming enemy."

"Eragon," Arya spoke, walking up towards him and stopping at his side. From their position in the rocks, they could easily look down on the event. She carried a large backpack in her left arm and a helmet in her right, which she handed over to him. "A replacement."

Somewhat confused, Eragon took the helmet. "Did it not already receive a replacement?" He asked.

Arya shook her head. "All of us received a replacement. The helmets are supposed to help us locate the enemy and further say unnoticed."

Locating the enemy with a piece of equipment…the Starborn sure knew how to operate efficiently with warfare. "Thank you," he said. He then gestured at Ajihad and asked, "Does your mother agree with this?"

Arya sat down on one of the rocks and started tying her hair. "I know not what my mother thinks. Not anymore. She has been most…confusing…lately. I would assume that this was agreed upon in her presence."

"We have all suffered at the hands of this foe," Ajihad continued. "The elves have lost their forests, the dwarves have to offer their last remaining bastion as a refugee camp and the humans have lost their cities in the nonstop fighting. Soon, there will be nowhere to run."

Eragon sighed and lowered his head against Arya's shoulder. He felt so tired. Numb, too. Everyone wanted something and as a result, everyone was working for their own gain, oblivious to the needs of others. Even their leaders were in on it. "When do we leave?" He quietly asked.

She brushed past his ear with her hand, gently. "Soon," she whispered back. "The Starborn are preparing the vehicles."

Vehicles…that meant they had to team up with someone to drive them there. Surely not all the way towards their target?

"But like a cornered animal, we will lash out at our oppressors! When they strike at us, we will stand strong, and we will stand together! They might have washed our homes with fire, but they have failed to kill us. And that will be their undoing!"

Ajihad was riling up the crowd. They knew who their enemy was and they knew who their allies were. Hopefully they would be better united than the UNSC was.

"Do you think it will end here?" Eragon then asked. Arya had yet to attach the various armoured components to her suit. She still felt warm and soft under his skin.

"One final battle," she replied. "If we can seize what our foe wants…"

Her voice trailed off and Eragon knew why. Even if they could rob the monsters of their prize, then what? They still had thousands of soldiers left. "I do not like this. Our victory in Du Weldenvarden cannot guarantee victory in this war. If we win, our friends might still die. And Saphira-"

"All will be well, Eragon," Arya interrupted him. "Their defense will not be our distraction. If our mission goes according to plan, we will never be noticed."

"The most skilled soldiers that this alliance has to offer, are preparing to strike the Covenant where it will hurt them the most! The Starborn have discovered what it is that our foe so desperately seeks."

The crowd started yelling in response. Whatever Ajihad was planning, it was working.

"And it is our duty to hold this fort!" The leader of the Varden then shouted. "Our victories are intertwined. One is meaningless without the other! The Covenant might have driven us to this point, but hear me as I say: not one step further!"

Yells turned to outright screaming and cheering. Good. If the soldiers from the Varden could muster the motivation to keep fighting for their lives, their families and their freedom, the monsters would be in for a very difficult fight.

"One final battle…" Eragon repeated. Could it be so simple? "To fight it without Saphira…"

Arya nuzzled his cheek with hers. "You know what would happen to her, were she to go with us. Her scales reflect arrows, not magic fire. She will be needed here."

"I know that, but…"

"Did your teacher not teach you how to work alone, without your bonded partner?"

"I…yes, he did. And we can."

"You should not like being separated from her. You _should _be able to handle it, however. Your fight will be just as hard as hers. Neither of you shall be alone for it."

"No," Eragon said. "We won't." That was true. Murtagh and Thorn were there, too. Spartan and Aeraleth as well. With three Riders heading north and three dragons staying to hold the camp, this could not -would not- end in tragedy. "Then what about you?"

"Me?" Arya replied with a hint of surprise.

"Yes. We will be entering your home once more. The Covenant…they will have burned most of Ellesméra to the ground."

Arya visibly flinched when he said that. It hurt Eragon to see that his comment had such an effect on her, but she had to be prepared for it. "I… I know that. But Du Weldenvarden is strong, Eragon. It will not fall that easily. As long as we survive, we can rebuild it."

She sounded so confident. So sure of her case. Eragon wished he could muster that same confidence. "I hope you are right," he replied. "We have so little left."

What little time they had left, ran out at last. They received the call that all specialist teams were to move towards one of the central valleys, where they would prepare to make their final push into enemy territory.

Knowing that he would fight alongside Arya helped him stay focused. This conflict had changed from a rebellion against a king to a full-blown war for the very survival of their species. The responsibility for such a war was too much for him; when every battle might push his race that much closer to extinction. If the lives of his friends were at stake every single time, every single fight, how was he supposed to act? Freedom was something you could die for. A cause to give your life for. But in a fight where the sole purpose was to keep living…what use was dying when that was all your enemy wanted to accomplish?

'_Be calm, little one,' _Saphira told him, sensing his distress. Even though she was focused on her own task, she still managed to find time to soothe his worries. '_Soon you will meet the other chosen warriors. Does it not strengthen your resolve, knowing you will fight among the strongest?'_

If he looked at it like that…this assault on the structure was the best chance that any of them had to deny the monsters their price. He'd like to know who the Starborn would consider their champions for it. He knew that Spartan would be among their warriors, but who else? Who did the leaders in the shadows trust to participate in this mission?

'_How are you?'_ Eragon asked her. '_Are you well?'_

_'I am well. Better than Aeraleth, I fear.'_

Her remark had something ominous to it. ´_What do you mean?' _

_'She did not take the injuries of her partner-of-hearts well. I think she is ill.'_

'_Ill?' _Arya was looking at him now, but she soon understood that he was mentally communicating with someone. '_Ill how?'_

"Saphira?" She asked.

Eragon nodded.

'_She does not speak. She performs her tasks, she eats and she drinks, but she does not communicate. What happened to her Spartan?'_ Then, in a more hushed voice, she asked, '_He did survive, did he not?'_

'_He did,'_ Eragon told her. '_At least…Arya told me that death had taken him, but that he had not stayed dead. That he had come back for her.'_ Now that he actually thought about it, it was even stranger. There was no amount of magic that could bring back the dead. None at all. So if the Spartan had truly perished in battle, how was he still alive? Was that one of his special abilities, too? Not only faster and stronger than normal humans, but able to cheat death itself?

'_If he is alive, why does she not communicate with us?'_

Eragon didn't know. What did death feel like? Had it been enough to damage their bond, impose upon her the madness that followed after the loss of a bonded partner? '_Let her be. She needs time. A lot happened to them lately. Spartan's own people tried to assassinate him and the injuries he accumulated from the fighting nearly crippled him.'_

'_Yet he still fights on?'_

Yes…he did. Despite everything, the Spartan seemed to go on whatever happened. It was impressive. Had someone from the Varden attempted to assassinate Eragon, he would have most likely quit then and there. What was it that drove him? What was his motivation?

'_He does,'_ Eragon replied. '_I don't think anything will ever stop him.'_

_'Then be like him, little one, and let nothing stop you of your way. You fight for your people, while the enemy merely hunts. Be strong.'_

Be strong. That sounded like good advice. Be strong for the people who could not be strong themselves. Maybe he could find his reason to fight there?

Indeed, Arya and him were not the first ones who had heeded the call to gather for the final briefing. Everyone from Section-26 was there, too. At least those who had survived. Nobody had talked about Sergeant Wallcroft who, in the thick of the chaos, had been left behind. Cut off from their forces, surrounded by Covenant troops.

Nobody except for the elf whose life he had saved, that was. What was her name again? Yaele? She had been the first one to insist they go after him and the last one to accept he was dead. Even when they had been in complete retreat from the pursuing Covenant, she had not been willing to let him go.

As Arya had said, saving an elf from certain death left an impressive bond in its wake. Wallcroft had been special in that regard.

But Orik was there too, as was Nar Garzhvog. Even Yaele, who had not allowed Wallcroft's death to keep her out of the fight.

And Spartan was there too! Eragon knew he should have expected it, but it still pleasantly surprised him to actually see it with his own eyes.

"There comes he!" He could hear Orik say. "Eragon, over here boy!"

Eragon smiled, but his smile quickly faded away once he saw what the UNSC had prepared for the fight that was about to come. A group of vehicles was positioned in-between the rocks, reminding Eragon of the ride they had taken to into the forest to destroy the enormous Covenant weapon. Except much smaller this time around. Five vehicles that looked like they were not meant for the frontlines.

He wasn't sure how to feel about that. The last time had not exactly been peaceful.

Then again, this was war. Nothing was meant to be peaceful.

Eragon hesitated for a moment, before raising his hand and greeting his fellow Rider. The eerily pale-skinned Spartan gave him the slightest of nods, before returning his focus to its previous state. Glancing at the floor, away from the prying glares that most of the present soldiers were giving him.

"Eragon?" One of the present soldiers asked. He wore that same green-olive coloured suit that the rest of the normal Starborn soldiers worse, together with a green helmet that did nothing to conceal his face. Nevertheless, he looked exceedingly intimidating. He was large, had a large scar running down his cheek and looked like he was having the worst day of his life. "Good. We're about complete. Sit down, kid."

Eragon wasn't too sure of this. He could vaguely remember this soldier, but he didn't know where from. That could not truly be a good thing. "Who are you?" He asked.

Sighing with clear frustration, the tall soldier turned back to face him again. "Staff Sergeant Bryce. If you wanna keep your ass on this mission, I suggest you sit down boy. We're getting ready for the real fight."

It was with no small measure of self-control that Eragon did refrain from talking back. He glanced at Arya, who shrugged and sat down a few paces away from Orik. If she was willing to let that slide, so was he.

"As I was saying," the large Staff Sergeant continued, "we have no way of knowing if and when the Covenant will perform a counter-attack in the meantime. So make no mistake; there will be _no _ground support. _No _air support. Potential ground teams might join you on the ground, but if you get into a situation…you will be on your own." The tough-looking soldier halted and glanced at the various soldiers who had assembled in front of him. There were some Starborn there as well, but they were few. "I won't blame you if you want to stay here," he then quietly added, much to Eragon's surprise.

Leave! Who would want to leave at a time like this? This was most likely the most important battle in the war! It would be like the theft of Saphira's egg from the capital. Like the rescue of Arya from her prison.

Eragon looked around as well. He saw Orik cross his arms with indignity, he saw Yaele shake her head and Raia glare at Hudson, as if challenging him to speak up.

So when Nar Garzhvog grunted and raised his thick arm, it took Eragon completely by surprise. Surely the Kull was not thinking of leaving, was he?

"What happens to the leaders of this alliance?" He asked with his rough voice.

"They stay here," the Staff Sergeant replied. Eragon wondered what had happened to the representatives of Section-26, as those men had been responsible for the mission to sabotage the massive weapon in the forest. Surely they would be more eligible for this speech? "They need to coordinate the defense. The Covenant knows where are hiding, so it's just a matter of time before they attack."

"Who defends them?" The Kull continued. Eragon was starting to see where he was going, but that didn't satisfy him at all.

"We got plenty of troops and weapons to fight, if that's what you mean," the Starborn replied. He took a good look at the huge urgal, appraising him.

"If the devils come to take them, will our leaders be safe?"

"No," Staff Sergeant Bryce replied with a bit of hesitation. "If they send their entire force at us, we won't hold out forever."

The Kull grunted with satisfaction at that answer. "Then I shall stay here. My people need coordination too. We will not allow them to approach the unarmed. The monsters are strong, but we are stronger!"

"So you want to stay and keep the fort?" The Starborn asked.

"An army of Urgalgra is strong, but an army directed by one leader? Their Covenant will not break us."

"Hmm…haven't heard that one before. What's your name, soldier?"

Garzhvog raised his head. "I am Nar Garzhvog, leading dam in charge of the Urgalgra."

The Staff Sergeant nodded in return. "Another leader. Right, so why are you here then?"

This time, Garzhvog glanced at Eragon and Arya. "I am also a part of the Starborn's warriors group. Section twenty-six. I was summoned here too."

That one took the Sergeant by surprise. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, glaring at the Kull. "Excuse me? Section what?"

"Section twenty-six," Eragon chimed in. It didn't seem like Garzhvog really knew all that much about the group they had been inducted in. That, and his pronunciation was awful. "An outfit formed to deal with the Covenant weapon in the forest, to the west."

The Starborn blinked a few times, looking somewhat confused. "Uh-huh. Alright. We're gonna need every able soldier we can get out there, so you and your people are welcome. What about the rest of you?"

"A soldier must carry a sword and a shield," Murtagh said. "If the urgals be our shields, we must still possess a sword. That is why are here, and we shall not leave."

"Good. Normally, the Eltee takes over this part, but she's busy. I'll keep this short. Our objective lies in the forest called 'Du Weldenvarden'. It'll be crawling with Covenant soldiers. When you get there, you will have to fight your way to the Forerunner structure. Get in, find whatever it is the Brutes are after and take it. If you can't, destroy it. If you're lucky, we will be able to extract you. If not…"

"If not, we will find our own way out," one of the Starborn soldiers called. He sounded familiar. Very familiar. Eragon didn't remember his name, but he knew that he had met him before.

"Everything can happen out there," Bryce continued. "We will stay in radio contact the entire way, but once you've engaged the enemy, you will be on your own."

"That situation is not unfamiliar to us," Murtagh said with a deadpan voice.

Eragon couldn't disagree.

"True. As you might have noticed, there are several UNSC faces in your midst. These boys are your drivers, weapon masters and general advisors. You are going to need each other."

"Yup," Hudson remarked. "We know the feeling, Sarge."

The Sergeant replied with a shout, but he did so with a smile. "Can it, Hudson. Now, I don't care if you've got a beard, or pointy ears or an appetite for human flesh. You're all in this together, and you all need each other to stay alive." The Sergeant looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the end he simply saluted. "Weapons and gear are stashed in the 'hogs. Good luck."

With that, the Sergeant lowered his arm again and took off, leaving Eragon with an odd sense of foreboding. What were they getting themselves into?

Had Spartan not been there, he would have thought that something about this situation was off. After all, why would the UNSC trust them with a mission this important?

"Now then," Orik called as he turned towards the vehicles. There were another two there, which Eragon had failed to see before. Small ones, which looked like they barely had any room for more than two people. "I want the shotgun."

"Straight to work?" Corporal Hudson told Orik. "Do you even know how to operate that thing?"

Orik grunted and grabbed the weapon with both hands, observing it closely. "Point and shoot, you said?"

"We're going to let the dwarf use the shotgun?" The other soldier said with a hint of a sneer.

His beard shifting somewhat as he did, Orik looked at the other soldier and frowned. "I have a name, boy. It's Orik! And I do not take such remarks kindly."

"Sergeant Crane. How pleasant to see you again," Arya said with a voice that sounded anything but pleasant.

Crane! The soldier who had escaped the coast with them during the initial Covenant assault! Eragon had wondered what had happened to him afterwards. Was he here to fill in the gap that Wallcroft had left behind? Was he now a member of Section-26 as well?

"The pleasure is all mine," Crane replied. "Haven't served with most of you lot yet."

"You know this man, Arya?" Orik asked.

"I do. He was an…ally…of ours, when we fought our way to Du Weldenvarden."

"Small world, ain't it?" Crane then said. "Look, I don't think you know this, but blokes like us usually receive years' worth of training before we get missions like this."

"Yeah," Raia remarked, sitting back on a rock. "We know this. And that did not stop us from winning the previous battle, now did it?"

"Previous battle?" Crane asked.

Eragon nudged Orik, who immediately pulled him in a strong, brotherly hug. "It is good to see you are alive and well," the dwarf said. "When we heard those treacherous devils attempted to assassinate Spartan of all people, I thought they would be going after all Riders!"

"You know about what happened?" Eragon quietly asked.

"Of course! Such news travels fast. We need to keep our eyes and ears keen, mine foster-brother. Those crafty elves are very good at acquiring information that matters."

"That…" Eragon suddenly remembered that Spartan's hearing was very sharp as well and nervously glanced at him. It didn't look like he had heard anything, but he was not going to risk it. "Let us talk about that another time. Tell me Orik; what did I miss?"

"Not much" Orik replied, putting the shotgun away. "We are but one of three mobile assaults on Du Weldenvarden. Those otherworldly creatures will join the attack as well, as will a large group of those Starborn soldiers. This will be the turnabout, Eragon! I can feel it in my bones!"

Three assaults on that ancient structure? Eragon hoped that they would attack from three different directions as well. If the Covenant was still occupying the forest, they would need to strike quick and without mercy.

He had better take some proper firepower with him.

"One step at a time," Eragon replied. He noticed that the elves were donning those black suits, just like Murtagh was. The armoured components on those suits had reportedly deflected swords and arrows.

Following his gaze, Orik said, "Alas, they do not possess those nifty suits in my size." He gave a pull at his chainmail and uttered a short, gruff laugh. "They would not do me much good, anyway! When struck by that magic fire, not even Saphira's scales could protect you."

Eragon couldn't really disagree with that, either. He wondered if he could put a ward on Orik to protect him, but quickly discarded the idea. He had no clue what those weapons truly fired and even if he could somehow figure it out soon enough, the amount of energy it would take would most likely kill him.

There was a better way to avoid certain death, anyway. "Then hope we do not get hit," Eragon said, unable to suppress a grin. It was a morbid humour to laugh at the prospect of death, but he did not care; After having stared it in its eyes and escaping with his life multiple times, he had earned that right.

Orik chuckled and picked up his shotgun again. "Oh Eragon, could you imagine what this sort of weaponry could do to Alagaesia?"

Eragon glanced over at the vehicle and saw the familiar black rifle stashed away. As he moved to retrieve it, he replied, "It would end wars with such speed that no man would remain." He stayed with his previous conclusion; these weapons were unfair. At least you could protect yourself against magic with your own magic, but these weapons had no match. Killing a person over a distance of a thousand feet with a single movement of your finger was not a way of fighting that he would wish on his land.

"A-aye…but think of the possibilities! We would not have to fear tyrants like Galbatorix anymore!"

"Be honest Orik. Do you really fear Galbatorix now?"

The dwarf grunted, fumbling with his weapon. "I…no. The devils will most likely have turned his citadel to rubble. But had the Starborn not arrived when they did, could we have won? Could you have defeated that Oath-Breaker?"

Eragon had to be honest with himself; he had never envisioned himself beating the king on his own. "Not without a miracle. But Orik, if the Starborn had never come here, these weapons would not have been here either!"

That earned him a hearty laugh. "That is true! Now then, mine foster-brother, will you take those explosives, or shall I pocket them?"

As they all prepared for the coming fight, Eragon spotted his fellow Rider using magic to attach various straps and small bags to his clothes. He stood without any form of armour, not even the black or green suits that the Starborn wielded. His clothes concealed his wounds, but they could not hide their effect. Of his elegance and inhuman coordination was not much left. Nevertheless, that he was still standing on his feet was a feat that only he could perform. After all, with such wounds even a dragon would succumb.

Eragon was starting to wonder realize why he had felt so outclassed before. Even without his armour and its enhancing properties, he still stood leagues above the likes of humans and elves. Having survived death itself, he continued to fight the very foe he had faced for so many years already. Such determination was unheard of, even among the magical races.

But for all of his tenacity, even he had reached his limits. Under Daenlith's watchful eyes he carefully gathered several magazines for his own rifle, which he had hung from the straps he had magically attached to his back. A strange device hung by his hip. It looked like a hilt without a sword, but not any hilt that Eragon had ever seen before. It probably was some sort of technology meant to assist him in battle, like the suppressor.

The ´pistols´ that everybody took were too powerful for even the Starborn soldiers to hold with one hand. As such, Eragon was not surprised to see that Spartan had taken not one, but two of the sidearms. He knew that the miraculous armour was not the sole origin of the Spartan's prowess, as he had proven most capable even without it.

So how far could he go now that he was crippled and unprotected?

Eragon glanced at Arya to see if she was ready, but she was too busy bickering with Crane to get armed.

"Those vehicles are utterly devoid of protection," she said, gesturing at the small two-person machines. "What possesses you to ride them in battle?"

"Lady, had the war gone on two weeks longer, we woulda been charging the cunts with pieces of wood as protection! We'd attack the bloody things with forks and spoons!"

"There is that little material left?"

"Look at the bloody warthogs. Those things are meant for flippin' scouting operations, not frontal assaults!"

Aye. That was Sergeant Crane alright.

Looking back at the Spartan, Eragon realized that the roles might now be very different. Before their arrival at Du Weldenvarden, he had looked at his fellow Rider as a source of comfort and reassurance. Knowing that he was there, no matter how unpleasantly he acted, had been enough to encourage him to keep trying. But now that the Spartan was the crippled one, those roles had been reversed. Now Eragon felt a sense of protectiveness towards him. In the end, there were only so much injuries someone could take without breaking, even someone like him.

Eragon made his way towards the other Rider, very aware of the piercing eyes that were following him every step of the way. It seemed that, whatever sense of protection he felt towards his comrade, it was nothing compared to what Daenlith must feel to stay so close to him every step of the way.

It was odd. Spartan had expressed an interest in her before, during the Blood-Oath Celebration. Did she have that same interest in him? Did the two of them struggle with the same problems as Arya and he did, in the face of duty and the barriers between their races?

The Spartan was busy tying a hunting knife to his boot, which would be the third visible blade on his body. He had the sheath of another large knife attached to his chest and Eragon was pretty sure that the black leather next to his left pistol held a knife too.

"Are you sure you should do this?" Eragon carefully asked, suffering from the same apprehension he used to feel when talking to Arya. Minus the rest of the feelings that had come along with that, of course.

"You never know when one breaks," he replied. His voice was different somehow.

Realizing that the Spartan was referring to his equipment and hadn't really understood what he meant, Eragon felt somewhat embarrassed as well. "No, I mean…are you well enough to fight? Are you sure you should join this battle?"

With careful precision, the Rider finished tying the knife and then looked up at Eragon. "Yes."

"How can you be so sure about that? Nobody would blame you if you-"

"I know," Spartan cut him off. At that moment, it struck him why he sounded different. He had lost that hard edge in his voice. "But that doesn't matter. As long as I can fight, I will fight."

"Even though your own people tried to take your life?" Eragon quietly asked, hoping that such a question would go too far.

"Yes," the Spartan bluntly replied. "The Brutes must be stopped from entering that Forerunner structure. If we don't, they will kill Aeraleth and everyone in Alagaesia. And that is unacceptable."

He stated his goals and intentions so clearly, so simply. Spartan knew why he was fighting and his reason was sound. Eragon wondered…could he use the same reasoning? The Covenant would kill Saphira, Arya, Orik…everyone he knew and loved. Put in that way, his motivation was even greater than that of the Spartan. He had more to lose, more to protect.

"Your safety's off," the Spartan then said, reaching for a different rifle. It was longer than his other one, with a very long barrel and a long tube of glass on top of it. A scope.

"Excuse me?"

The Rider suddenly reached for Eragon's rifle and promptly twisted it sideways, exposing a small pin at the side. The suddenness and speed of his movement took Eragon by surprise and he nearly gave a cry of surprise.

"This," the soldier said, pushing the pin back with a small 'click'. "Is the safety. It prevents your weapon from accidental discharges."

"Accidental what?"

Behind him, something suddenly exploded with all the force and noise of the rolling thunder. Various people cried out in surprise and above it all, Orik could be heard screaming, "My apologies! I am so sorry, how do I shut this blasted thing off?"

"Discharge. You don't want your gun to fire at the wrong moment. Just like a sword, you never aim it at something you don't want to destroy."

Eragon winced, rubbing his ears. He was very, _very _thankful that Wallcroft had told him something similar before the battle in the forest. Their entire mission could have been ruined had something like that taken place there.

As several soldiers began chastising the unhappy dwarf, Eragon subtly aimed his rifle at the ground. "Thank you. Does every gun have this safety?"

"Yes. Be sure to take the safety off again when entering combat."

Eragon envisioned himself facing a Brute and taking aim, only to find that his gun wasn't working. "I will."

Well, this sort of proved that the Spartan was still sharp enough to enter the battlefield. Eragon supposed that he had no other choice then; Arya and him would have to keep a close eye on him. He had no idea how his injuries would affect his fighting ability and he didn't want to find out either. Enough people had died.

Having finished her enlightening conversation with the Sergeant, Arya was quick to join Eragon as well. The sun was slowly starting to set, bathing the canyon with shadows. They were much more comfortable to sit in than the blistering heat of the sun.

"I was given advice on my choice of arms," Arya said, sitting down on one of the rocks opposite of Spartan. She unhanded two of the smaller weapons and showed them to the Rider. "They called it 'duel-wielding'. I assumed they meant to carry both at the same time?"

"Be careful with that," Daenlith replied. "They might not be heavy, but they are powerful."

The Spartan shot her a look of honest surprise, which offered pretty much the same question Eragon held. _How did she know that?_

Eragon took a closer look at her gear. Sure enough, he saw the two exact same weapons with her as well. One attached to her hip, the other to her back. So that's how.

"The Marines don't do this with SMG's. The recoil is too powerful." He looked back at Arya's weapons and added, "In our hands, that is not an issue."

Eragon had seen Yaele using that weapon too. It unleashed a massive storm of metal, but it also forced her to reload the weapon much sooner. Still, if Arya and Daenlith wanted to 'duel-wield' those storm-throwers, they were welcome to do so. He would stick with his rifle though, as he at least knew how that weapon worked.

The Spartan placed his own rifle at his side and pulled out the one with the scope, before readjusting it. As he did that, one of the Starborn soldiers approached their spot, holding the most massive weapon Eragon had ever seen.

"Sir!" the soldier called. He sounded younger than Crane and Hudson, but his voice was filled excitement. "You should take this, for when that Chieftain returns."

The Spartan stood and took the weapon from the marine, who seemed suspiciously-excited to hand the weapon over.

Eragon's curiosity won over and he nodded at the soldier. "What's that?"

"Spartan Laser," the marine grinned, despite having been obviously heavily burdened by the massive weapon. "Most powerful human infantry system currently in existence."

Spartan laser…Eragon wondered if this was the same laser he and Arya had used as laser sights. A bright little red light, used to target enemies? If so, why was it so big? Because it was made for Spartans? If so, _why was it so big?_

The Spartan took his laser and hefted it with both hands. He then shifted its weight to his right shoulder and moved one of his fingers, causing a flat square to pop up from the sight. An advanced, boxy scope?

Then, the Starborn Rider took a look at his scoped rifle and then back at the laser, as if deciding which one to take. But if that was the most powerful human system -Eragon assumed combat system- in existence, he wanted to see it in action.

"I'll take it," he then declared, before very carefully putting the weapon back down again.

The marine saluted and then left again, leading Eragon straight to another question. The man had just called Spartan 'sir' and he had also saluted him. Was he an officer? Eragon knew that some Varden soldiers called _him _sir, or Rider, purely because of his status. As a Rider. But the Starborn didn't value Riders at all, so the Spartan had to be some sort of officer.

Why wasn't he going with his men then? If the UNSC was going to send their soldiers on this assault as well, shouldn't the Spartan lead them?

Or would he rather fight alongside his comrades than his own people? That was an option too. After all, his own people had attempted to kill him. Not officially, but still.

Maybe asking him to stay behind had been a thoroughly-wrong thing to do. Eragon would make up for that later.

"Spartan laser?" Arya then asked, much to Eragon's surprise. "Was it designed for your group?"

"The M-six Grindell Galilean Nonlinear Rifle," he replied with some irritation, "was developed for one of the MJOLNIR variants. The name of my armour system," he then added. "It is also too impractical to be used by normal infantry units."

"Hence the name, Spartan laser," Arya then said. "Curious. Back during the initial onslaught, Sergeant Crane told us that Spartans are different from the humans. Very different."

That thought wasn't too far off. Spartan was very large for a human, and very pale. Even if he left all of his combat skills out of the equation, Spartan was not like the rest of the humans. Not for the first time, Eragon wondered if his fellow Rider might be a subspecies of humanity, just like the Kull.

"Does it matter?" Daenlith quietly asked.

"In the face of our coming battle, secrets will only be detrimental."

"It's alright," the Spartan told his companion. "We all have to make sacrifices." He glanced at Arya and Eragon could have sworn that there was something else than the normal lack of emotions in his eyes. "But not here, and not now."

Arya nodded, perhaps realizing that she was asking something really important of him. "Agreed."

What little time remained soon faded away. Eventually, all of them were armed and geared up. Ready to go to war once more.

Orik had been instructed in how to use the shotgun, though he still kept one of his axes close by. Yaele, Arya and Daenlith had all prepared themselves by taking plenty of the SMG ammo. Eragon didn't say it, but he was secretly looking forward to seeing them in action. He would be completely satisfied if they didn't see any action at all, but he knew that even a Rider like him couldn't stand up to elves trained for combat and hardened by war.

A weird, mixed feeling rose up in his stomach when he thought about what was to come. Anticipation and dread, but also excitement. It felt like every nerve in his body was tinkling.

He appeared to be the only one who couldn't sit still though. Everyone else quietly and calmly finished their preparations and then went for the vehicles.

They were all ready to be paired up with their partner, because they were going to separate to present the smallest target. Arya would be going with him and Daenlith would be going with the Spartan. The Shade, Raia, would be joined by Hudson. The two of them would have some interesting times ahead of them.

Orik had worried Eragon somewhat, because he would be going with Sergeant Crane on one of the vehicles. However, his foster-brother had only been excited for the ride. Said he was finally going to 'ride shotgun', whatever that meant.

Yaele would accompany Murtagh in one of the larger vehicles. Eragon's brother hadn't really been happy about that, but he had come to accept it. He was tough and dependable, and now also a Rider. He had not escaped Galatorix' grasp only to fall in battle here. He was going to have to drive their vehicle however, which worried Eragon somewhat.

Mainly because it meant he had to drive one too.

* * *

Secret-Spartan zero-zero-seven slung the M6 Grindell over his back and turned to address the gathered force, Alpha team. Three elves, a Shade, a dwarf, two teen Riders, two marines and him. The other soldiers had helped them get geared up, before regrouping with Charlie team.

"Listen up," he called. The assembled soldiers immediately fell quiet and looked at him. "Our target will be in the deepest parts of Du Weldenvarden." Even with the Mongooses, such a distance would still take them over a day to cross. "We split up here, to avoid Covenant patrols. One vehicle will not attract as much attention as five. We stay separated until we reach the cover of Du Weldenvarden."

"How do we find each other again?" Murtagh asked. It was the first time Maine had seen him in the full set of ODST armour, and he was surprised to see how well it suited him. The only thing that betrayed his native heritage was his long hair, which would go completely hidden behind his helmet.

"Radio contact," the Spartan replied. "Once we find a good zone in the forest, we signal the others that are clear. Does everybody remember their designation?"

The group gave him a collective affirmative. Good. They were ready. "Keep your weapons ready, keep your wits sharp. Look after your partner and we'll all go home. Let's get this done."

As the team grabbed their weapons and headed to the vehicles, Daenlith approached him. She had attached the sheath of her sword at her back, where she could easily reach it should she be pressed in close quarters.

"Your speeches need working," she told him with a faint smile.

"I don't do crowds," he replied. "Are you ready?"

She nodded and then donned her helmet, hiding her attractive features behind the non-reflective visor. To see her hidden behind the head of an ODST was somewhat disconcerting. It was also new to him, to see her in that suit. He didn't dislike it. However, it did make him wish he still had his MJOLNIR. It would take the engineers a long time to repair it. Those spare parts had better be up to standard.

Maine's hand brushed past the handle of the Energy Sword he had been given and he nodded in return. "Let's go to war."


End file.
